


I Drew Her Smile

by MadameMadrigal



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Doodlebug ship, F/M, JUST KISS ALREADY, Nathaniel x Marinette, a novel version of classic shoujo manga ._., constant screaming in frustration, fan fiction, nathanette, otp
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-26
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-08-11 02:00:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 33,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7871251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadameMadrigal/pseuds/MadameMadrigal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one could deny that Nathaniel was depressed. All signs screamed to handle him with care.<br/>But through the help of a dear friend and a long-standing love, Nathaniel comes to terms with himself and what he wants. Will he win Marinette over, or forever be stuck watching forlornly as Adrien and Marinette finally lay their feelings out where there's no more misunderstanding?</p><p>Here, we'll encounter Alya's well kept secret, Ivan's lovable friendship with our lil' tomato, Nino's talent at not covering up mistakes, and other characters that you knew and loved in season one, plus a few additions!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In the Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I was so happy when you smiled  
> Your smile breaks through the clouds of gray."  
> ~For Fruits Basket
> 
> Nathaniel's future self narrating his depression as a teenager in Collège Françoise Dupont. This is to set the stage for his story that begins his journey as a young man dealing with his past and setting the course for his future.

Back then, I hated looking in the mirror.

It wasn’t the mirror, really- it was what I saw when I looked in; the ugly red, the almost haunting, glazed blue. It was disturbing the way I looked when staring into the mirror. So I just avoided it like the coward I was. I do believe that was the start of my depression. I don't know when it began _per se_ , that hate for mirrors that started my slow descent into melancholic misery. Unlike some who knew exactly how, when, and where it happened, I couldn't so much as tell you the date and time. It wasn't immediate. It slowly crept into my life like a poisonous reptile, ready to strike when it was too late. And when it did, I knew I wasn't the old me anymore. All I remember was my drawings slowly turning into something darker than they had normally been, my subconscious guiding the pencil oh, so cunningly, until a horror reared it's awful head at me from the paper. Thinking back on it, it's more than disconcerting. But I was too numb to care. But no one around me noticed. My parents simply called it a stage and chose to move on with life, choosing not to comment at my hellish sketchbook. I was so tempted to prove them wrong. If it was a stage, then it could have been my last. I so wanted to end it. But I couldn't. To this day, I don't know why. Something in my head seemed to whisper,  _not yet_. So I didn't.

Regardless, I took it upon me to seat myself in the back row every year away from wandering, worried gazes that I was undoubtedly going to be subjected to. It would keep anyone from seeing the upsetting pictures I drew that came with the feelings of emptiness. It was easy to imagine and apply it to paper, really. Just draw what you imagined doing to yourself every day you live. Draw what you were holding back on. My wrists to this day may be clean (thank the stars above), but I can't count the times my graphite image had taken a pocket knife and been so cruel to himself, day after day. One morning he would be drowning, the next would be suffocation, or the innuendo of a noose, and on and on. To this day, I have not kept a single drawing from then. They were disturbing, and crude. Everything about them had whispers of death hanging around them, and I didn't want that. But the real kicker was how my drawing improved through my depression. Drawing a self abused person over and over again had helped me perfect it. It gets a good bitter laugh from me now and then when I reminisce my childhood. Such a waste, those years.

The only other logical explanation I had to my survival was the one person who cared enough to do something about me. Ivan Bruel.

Back then, Ivan had just become my desk partner, and during those times, I could tell he was always overly-cautious and delicate with me. You might laugh, asking how such a large guy could be delicate, but it was the truth. Compared to his interactions with others, I watched as he would seemingly walk on eggshells around me. It must have been stressful sitting next to a near-suicidal artist. I'm a little remorseful when I take those walks down memory lane, having caused him so much trouble. He would constantly check my wrists when he sat down in the mornings, occasionally glancing at my drawings during class to gauge how critical my condition was getting. He didn't say anything to me or the teachers, although I have to admit they must have both been somewhat aware and were being just as delicate with the situation. Regardless, He made sure- quite subtly too, I might admit- that I was physically unharmed. They knew there wasn't much they could do for me emotionally, and left me to battle my own demons alone.

I didn't realize how much Ivan was conscious of my situation until I happened to contract the flu and couldn't make it to school. My mother hadn't yet informed the teachers because some office situation came up at work, so when Ivan asked, no on at school had a sufficiently adequate answer. He must have been desperately running between classrooms asking for me, asking the students whether they had seen me around school, all with a negative answer. Not more than ten minutes after school had officially begun, an extremely worn out Ivan burst into my room, frantic and scared half to death. He froze when he saw me, feverish and pale with a trash can at the ready beside my bed, and sank against the door. He had run the entire way from school, risked getting run over by oncoming traffic when running across at a stop light, all to make sure I hadn't done something rash.

Or fatal.

From then on out, he was stuck to me like gorilla glue. It's laughable, thinking of the ways he'd explain himself to be around me. Every year he would make sure to sit beside me in every class, and when he wasn't in my class, I was without fail escorted to the door on the pretense that it was on the way to his. We both knew better. His classes were always impossibly far distances, and I remember walking past his classroom after school to hear him being berated for always being late. But that didn't daunt him. He would chat away cheerily at lunch with me, and even went as far to compliment my drawings, which I imagine was borderline impossible when they were so gruesome. Whenever he couldn't be around, he expected a call from me twice a day. Texting was not an option, since he couldn't hear my voice, and it wasn't supposed to be a planned call. After all, you can plan a suicide around schedules. So, whenever he called, at whatever time, be it noon or midnight, I was required to pick up. Otherwise, my phone would blow up with frantic texts and calls. If I was too depressed to answer, he would find me. It wasn't a threat, he once told me, but a promise. But despite all that, he never expected me to leisurely converse with him or kindly return his small chatter. He was just there. That was more meaningful than any diagnosis or cure. It was enough to know that I could rely on him to keep from falling farther than I had. He offered that little cushion of friendship, and it stopped the ever growing hole I was digging myself into.

But that was it. I didn't get any better, and at the same time, I wasn't going to get any worse. It was almost like limbo, and I never want to experience that kind of feeling again. It was so lonely. It's a sense of isolation in the middle of a crowd, like you could reach out and not still not have a hand to hold while you get through your worst moments. It was like being at the bottom of a chasm. People could yell down, offering encouragement and support and I could hear it all, but it wasn't worth anything in the end. The guidance and support they'd offer felt empty and over-used. "You'll always have us", "It's all in your head", "I'm here for you". They almost felt like lies that everyone kept feeding me. With the clouds still ever-growing, I didn't believe I would make it out of my teenage years in one piece, much less alive.

I've heard countless time that to escape, you have to climb; that giving up is never an option, but back then it was the only logical option. I was too exhausted to trek my way back up, but I refused to let myself sink deeper. So I was simply at a standstill.

And it was there Ivan sat at the top of my chasm to be my company as I would sketch and paper littered around me in the dark hole that was my life.

But every cloud must eventually part to let the sun shine through.

And my sun had an especially bright smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please share your thoughts so far! I have a bit already prepared and set up, but I'd like your opinions on how this chapter made you feel, if anything. :) Thanks for reading!


	2. Hesitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Why so dull and mute, young sinner?  
> Prithee, why so mute?  
> Will, when speaking well can't win her,  
> Saying nothing do't?  
> Prithee, why so mute?"  
> Why So Pale and Wan, Fond Lover, by John Suckling
> 
> This chapter is mostly just fluff, plus character and scene setting. Fast forwarding to senior year, we travel with Nathaniel to his current school, and explore the relationships he currently has with his friends and how he has grown (in my mind) since "The Evillustrator".

_Terminale*_  year, and it's raining.  
  
The thunder rattles the window of my bedroom, and I shiver slightly. My room is cozy and warm, yes, but the anticipation of walking in the drizzling, icy rain gives me chills. It's the first day of a new year, but I already know what lays ahead. It's just going to be another session of torture and struggling to stay afloat amidst homework. But I have Ivan, and that's all I can hope for.  
  
I leap out the door, over the three steps of my parents apartment, and onto the sidewalk, pulling my hoodie up over my overly loud red hair. Beads of gem-like rain drops fly up from a little puddle I manage to plant a shoe in, and I watch as they rejoin the asphalt with millions of other freshly fallen ones. My sneakers squeak beneath me as I shove both hands into my jacket pockets and head to the school that would keep me imprisoned for another year. It is mildly shocking to have found it raining so late in the season. It doesn't bother me much. It just adds to the dreary mood that I would rather forget. The clouds are overcast, vast and immense, shrouding the world in gray tones. Even the autumn leaves that were before so shockingly vivid beneath the noonday sun have become drab and lifeless. They stick to the gutters and sidewalks, occasionally breaking free of their watery grasp, only to once more become captive a few feet away.  _How symbolic,_ I think dryly.  
  
Pulling out my iPod and earphones, I hit shuffle and sigh as a slow waltz begins to play. I have always been enamored with classical music- Especially ones with a minor toned quality about them. Even back before I was depressed, they had always delightfully entranced me. But back when I was depressed, they were the only real comfort I had, the peaceful strains slowly carrying me away from whatever care I possessed. Classical-sounding modern music is hard to find, but once in a while you can find a gem that holds it's own style, yet doesn't lose the quality of good piano music. My playlist was one of the few things I held most dear.  
  
Looking up slightly, I find I am finally at my destination, gazing up at the school. _Lycée Chevalier Delacroix_ stood  proudly before the streets of Paris despite the cloudy storm around it. With it's four stories, it is no small building. They took their education seriously back when it was first built. To this day, it is considered a well known high school, with student success as the top priority. They only accept the best, and back then I decided if this was where my sun was choosing to rise, I was willing to give my dominant hand to be there. Thankfully, I didn't have to take such drastic measures but I was nonetheless relieved I made it. Breaking my gaze from the grandiose building, I look down the street a few blocks where my old junior high is.  
  
_Collège Françoise Dupont i_ s still  _Collège Françoise Dupont_. The banner still hangs, blown in the gusty, biting wind. The windows are dotted and running with rain, the stairs slick. The double doors are open, almost seeming to welcome the poor souls who have to attend for the next eleven months. Buses are slowly filtering kids in, and sluggishly everyone files through the doors to the open courtyard. I feel the corners of my mouth lift ever so slightly. They may not have been the best four years of my life, but I miss those halls I used to walk. Turning back to my current school, I spot the one person that waits for me every year.  
  
Ivan stands by the doors, anxiously bouncing on his heels and blowing in his undoubtedly frozen hands, scanning the lot. He finds me and grins widely, even though it has only been a month. We had both been so busy looking at universities, we had no time to hang out over the short break. I can't help a small smile. Seeing him wait there for our last year makes me slightly sad. We will more than likely part ways after high school, moving on, and that feels lonely almost. But I appreciate the time we had as friends. Pulling out my earphones, I take the steps two at a time up to my friend.  
  
I'm just about to greet him when a bright, cheery voice can heard above everything else.  
  
"Late on the first day of school? You know that's probably not a good omen for the rest of the year, chickadee." A girls voice teases from the sidewalk below.  
  
I freeze and wait for the voice I know will answer.  
  
"I know, and I'm already seeing a pink slip with disappointment written all over it!" The voice replies between heavy breaths. The first girl laughs raucously.  
  
"Marinette, you are a piece of work, yah know that?"  
  
I close my eyes briefly and take a deep breath, all the while Ivan closing the last bit of distance.  
  
"Let me guess: no go this year, too?" Ivan sighs disappointedly. "The last year we have, and you're gonna waste it with that lame excuse.  _Again_."  
  
I flip my hoodie off and shake out the tips of my hair that managed to get wet. "It's not lame if it is a legit fear." I reason. "Do you know how frightening it is to think I could screw up everything after how far I've come?"  
  
We hear the laughs of both Alya and Marinette again below gradually getting closer as they ascend as well, and I feel my stomach churn. No. I won't ruin it. I've gotten this close, and that took what seems like forever. My courage has been built slowly like a Jenga game, and playing the other dangerous half of removing one piece by piece with a minuscule chance of winning only to have it likely fall is like putting your trust in a sand castle at the edge of a wave. You'd think, " _it's a castle with walls, surely it could withstand a puny wave?" o_ nly have it all come tumbling down. No, being friends is more than enough. I couldn't live if she avoided me, averted her gaze, or grew uncomfortable if I appeared. This is my last year, and I don't want to remember it with sadness.  
  
Ivan puts his arm around my shoulder and walks me in the doors into the dry building. "Dude, you worry too much."  
  
"You worry too little." I snipe good-naturedly. Ivan snorts and shifts his arm, grabbing me in a headlock. We both struggle for a while, caught in a battle of wills and strength.  
  
"In a bit of trouble there, Nathaniel?" Alya grins and leans her head so both she and I are eye to eye. I grunt a little, and shove Ivan off, finally getting the upper hand. I'm not as puny as I once was. I'm a good head and a half taller than before, only a little shorter than Ivan. Less buff than him, but then again, who isn't? I am still much more capable of holding my own now then I was. I glance at Marinette to glimpse her reaction. She has a small smile on her face, watching our antics. She catches me looking and despite my supposed courage, my gaze shoots to my feet in chagrin.  
  
"Good morning, Nathaniel." She says cheerfully. I look at her from under my hair, and she's watching me with such a kind expression that my heart stops a moment. It stutters back into rhythm, and I can breathe again.  
  
"'M-morning." I manage to smile back shyly and mumble. I sigh internally. I've been doing so well at responding normally to her, too. Sometimes, I annoy myself. To keep my shaking hands busy, I wrap my ear buds around my iPod and shove it into my pocket.  
  
"Find any good ones recently?" She begins to walk with me to the tables set up for the grades to pick up our schedules. "I've been dying to listen to something actually enjoyable recently, and you seem to know all the best ones."  
  
"You know I always do." I grin.  
  
"DADDY-KINS WILL HEAR ABOUT THIS." A familiar, ear-piercing screech peals through the air, and the school collectively sighs as we brace ourselves for another year.  
  
"And the rest of human-kind, sounds like." I grumble. Marinette laughs and I blush.  
  
Yes, I would rather it stay like this. I couldn't ask for anything more.  
  
_Right?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *- Terminale - French for the last year of high school; senior year
> 
> The song I have him playing is the Sherlock Title theme in waltz form.  
> Here's the link!: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aVzkBjv9xDg&list=PLh9R0KdDnt87umJledN9cJPLdx_HMRK3i&index=21
> 
> For those who are curious, Lycée Chevalier Delacroix (Roughly translated to mean Highschool of the Knight of the Cross) would look something like this in my mind-
> 
> https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/1/1d/Lyc%C3%A9e-Pierre-Caraminot.JPG
> 
> Pretty similar to Collège Françoise Dupont, no? ;)
> 
> All thoughts are encouraged!!! I'm excited to hear from you all in general!  
> Kudos and love!


	3. Determination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You know you are in love with her when you see the world in her eyes,  
> and her eyes everywhere in the world."  
> ~David Lavesque
> 
> Here, we follow up on Nathaniel's true feelings on the matter of Marinette. We never really hear the full extent of it in his episode, so I thought deeply, and this is what I cam up with!  
> I present you with the Nathaniel Kertzburgs tumultuous feelings he's had since the very beginning!

I'm drifting again. I can feel it. The teacher drones on and on about physics, and I can feel myself slipping away. I snap my head off my hand and struggle to read what Mr. Rousseau had written on the board. I try reading the words for a moment, squinting my eyes to cancel out any blurriness I can. No luck. Shaking my head a moment, I try again. I hear a small snicker beside me, and with a subtle glance, I find Ivan is tapping his pencil suggestively to his paper.  
  
I look at my own paper and blush deeply.  
  
I had everything but physics notes. Illustrious M's were littered all over the lined paper, circled with flowery vines or decorated with simple, lined patterns. I have a habit of doodling unconsciously, and today is no exception. But while part of my mind is away, the other half knows what it's doing, and is _very_ aware of what it wants me to draw. The only blessing is it isn't something as embarrassing as Marinette herself. It has happened on occasion, and the only time I had really been caught was when Chloe Bourgeois had managed to nab my notebook after dropping it in class. That was rather awkward, and having to make up an excuse to Marinette and go back to being friends was difficult. Shooting a quick glance to the front of the room and finding Mr. Rousseau's back to the class, I quickly rip the holed paper from my binder and crumple it in my hand.  
  
Looking at Ivan for a second, we telepathically converse.  
  
_Can I look at your notes?_ I move my eyes to his paper and glance back at him.  
  
_Sure, but you need to pay attention, man._ His eyes crinkle at the edges with amusement. Apparently I am just a funny guy today.  
  
With renewed vigor, I write down what he has so far, then turn back to class. No way am I going to lose focus this time.  
  
                                                                              ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
"I swear, I'm so glad this is our last year. I'm sick of seeing the same old faces for the past eighteen years. It's just pathetic."  
  
Ivan and I are standing in the lunch line together when we look at each other out of the corners of our vision, then resume to keep our eyes forward. They say to confront your demons, but whoever had created that analogy had not met Chloe Bourgeois. It is best to ignore her than to tell her to shut up. Besides, the only language she understands is valley-girl-Chloe, and only her 'friend' Sabrina is somewhat fluent in the language. The least you can do is smile, nod, and get out of the way.  
  
"By my calculations, if we _do_ happen to have your classes rescheduled to either be in a class that you enjoy or one that involves Adrien Agreste in the same room, the year will seem to fly at a much faster rate! If we can just get the approval of Principal Dufour to finalize the situation with the schedule, then-"  
  
"Pardon? I thought I heard you say 'if'. And what 'approval'? Sabrina, what happened to that brain of yours? Did you even have one to begin with? I could literally snap my fingers, and get you expelled and Mr. Dufour fired." Chloe threatens both openly and discreetly. I scowl at the back of a students' head. It's sickening to watch a spoiled brat in action, and the thought that she is able to get away with it annoys me to say the least. But as usual, no one can defy without risking their parents' jobs and their position at this school. I clench my fists and try my best to block out Chloe's venomous tones.  
  
"Sometimes, I just want to deck that chick." Ivan grumbles as he continues to listen in on their conversation. I shake my head.  
  
"At this point, I'm just tired of it. Would it be too much to ask for the mayor to get a position far, far away and never have to see that bleach blond horror again?" I sigh. "If this is punishment for not being a Catholic, then I will gladly find out when the next mass is, God spare me."  
  
Ivan coughs to try and mask a laugh, but gives up after nearly choking. "I would go with you but according to my parents I already worship Satan. I mean, have you listened to the music I have on my playlist?"  
  
We both laugh and are met with a few grumbles as we realize we've held up the line a bit from moving forward. Grabbing our lunches to go, we head to our usual spot outdoors, underneath the Hornbeam tree. The rain has stopped, letting the sun do its work, gently drying away the drops. Sitting under the shade, we take a moment to settle in before speaking  
  
"So, what was up in Mr. R's class today?" Ivan picks up his water and opens it, taking a long chug from it, all the while watching me with a look that says  _I already know what's up. Don't you try to lie to me._ Exhaling a large breath, I stab my spork through the protective plastic. If he already knows, why is he asking?  
  
"I want to know if you know." Ivan reads the emotions that cross my face and answers, leaning back against the trunk with a small smile on his face. "I've been around you for twelve years now. I know you probably better than you know yourself, Nath, my man. That's the funny thing about people- they can't see what others can see because it's on their back. Visible to all but you. So, again: What's up with you?"  
  
"I'm such an idiot." I stare at my egg casserole darkly. "I can't seem to take a hint when it's stabbing me in the foot with a fork. I mean, yeah I accept it, but the rest of me doesn't. I'm so stupid it irritates me."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because any normal guy would put an end to it with just a 'that's that' attitude and move on. I'm stuck in an endless loop of acceptance and denial, and it's driving me insane! It's so hard to hide it from her, too. I can't drag Marinette into this because it would only upset her."  
  
"But you're upset." Ivan replies while stabbing his chicken casserole.  
  
"So? What does it matter? That's _my_ problem. She never wanted any of that. By being herself, she attracted a loser. It's not her fault that everything she does is always adorable." I groan, throw my spork into the plastic container with my food and bury my head in my hands. Pressing the palms into my eyes, I watch as explosions slowly form behind my eyelids, making me as physically uncomfortable as I am emotionally. Shifting my hands up to my forehead and pushing back my hair, I watch the occasional bug in the grass idly crawl around. The frustration, anxiety, and worry is too much. The shame I'd feel at taking away that beautiful smile of hers simply because I couldn't keep those simple words in would be unbearable. I never want my sun to set, and not by my own hand if I can help it.  
  
"So, she's adorable. That's not the point." Ivan flips his bottle end over end and catches it. "The point is that you're over-complicating things. People have crushes all the time. Teenagers are prime, hormonal examples of that. But I think you've got more than a crush, dude. You've liked her for almost ten years now. Tell me that's not love."  
  
Alya's laugh rings out across the courtyard, and my head shoots up. Where there's Alya, her friend is usually not far behind.  
  
Nino and Alya stand together chatting while Marinette nervously shifts from foot to foot, visibly peeking at Adrien once in a while. Agreste, totally oblivious, follows their conversation animatedly, ignoring the restless girl in front of him. She awkwardly swipes her bangs away every few seconds, and fumbles to find a natural way to hold her hands.  
  
"Why won't he look?" I mumble. "If he would just look-"  
  
"What? What would he see?" Ivan retorts. He sobers just as quickly. "What do you see?"  
  
Sighing, I close my eyes, flop onto my back, and breathe in deeply. The wet, autumn air smells almost sweet, gently calming me. I hear her tinkling, nervous laughter, and my imagination takes hold, sketch lines beginning to form behind my eyelids. A small, feminine face appears. A cute button nose and magnificent bluebell eyes that shine brighter than Christmas lights. Dark hair, tinged with blue, like a mares brilliant coat.  
  
And a smile that can stop my heart from a mile away.  
  
Opening my eyes, I slowly sit up.  
  
"Ivan, tell me honestly... What would you say my chances are?"  
  
Ivan grins and flips his bottle higher than before.  
  
"Eighty-nine point nine percent chance of success."  
  
I turn my gaze back to Marinette, still across the courtyard. "And the other ten point one percent?"  
  
The bottle slaps back into his palm.  
  
"A possible showdown between Agreste and Kurtzberg."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  I'm honestly surprised. o.o I went planning this chapter one way, and it ended up turning into something TOTALLY different. I mean, yeah, Nathaniel was gonna go for it this year, but woah, lil' tomato! You shocked even ME. XD
> 
> Let me know your thoughts on this chapter! All feedback is more than welcome. Be sure to book mark and subscribe so you can catch more updates and published chapters!! :D またね! (see you later!)


	4. In It For the Win

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You've got to jump off cliffs and build your wings on the way down."  
> ~Ray Bradbury
> 
> This is just a courage building moment for our main character, and a little bit of character support. Mrs. Belamy will be a big part later on in the story.

“And why not?”  
   
I laugh and gaze at my feet in embarrassment. My uniform dress shoes are slightly scuffed and need shining again I note absently as I avoid the old lady's friendly eyes. She is a frequent customer at the local coffee shop, and often likes to stop and talk to me. At first, it was rather unsettling when I first began my job here and she had taken an interest in me, but I feel as if she is the main reason I got to be much better at talking and expressing myself. I get away with talking to her usually since the manager is relatively laid back about everything knowing full well that it's not the end of the world if I stop a moment to kindly talk with a customer, considering the satisfaction of the customers experience is top priority. I don't worry or look over my shoulder for him too much if she stops me to occasionally chat for a second.  
  
Today, It's about whether I have a girlfriend. Apparently "no" isn't the right answer. I watch in amusement as utter bewilderment flickers across her face mixed with confusion and disbelief at the notion that I am as single as the Pope.  
   
"Don't you laugh at me, young man!" Mrs. Belamy chuckles. "I am being completely serious! Why not?"  
  
I sigh in mock exaggeration with ease, and she knocks the toe of one of my shoes with her cane, to which I wink and beam at her. She has come to the cafe so often now that she almost feels like an aunt to me- one that I feel comfortable being as open as I am with my real family, if not exponentially more because of the fact that she  _isn't_  family. I can tease and joke with her like I can never feel appropriate doing to my parents, considering they are always away at work, and I barely know them as people, much less parents. But with Mrs. Belamy, it's relaxing in a way.  
  
Turning back to the wizened woman, I open my mouth to explain the current preferences of girls these days when she holds up a hand to stop me. I close my mouth and wait patiently as she lifts an eyebrow at me.  
   
"Don't try to tell me it's because you aren't handsome. My husband is probably rolling over in his grave as I speak, bless his heart." Her eyes twinkle with mischief. "I may be old and occasionally need glasses to see past the stupidity of some people, but I still have eyes that can see a lie as clear as day."  
  
I laugh again and shake my head. Ah, the humor of the elderly. So witty after seeing so many winters. "You have different tastes than the girls my age,  _mademoiselle._ I am much to faint-hearted and romantic as an artist to appeal much to anyone these days. And besides, I don't know if you noticed," I finger a strand of my hair and make sure she's looking before I grin and reply, "But I have no soul."  
   
Mrs. Belamy gasps and slaps my hand holding the tray I brought her coffee and scones out with and I snicker. Her expression is as if I had called  _her_ the soulless one. Even if I had, I know otherwise. She is such a kind and happy old lady despite the struggles life had tossed her way. She has all the right to be angry at the world, and yet she chooses to face the day with a smile.  
  
Her husband had died of skin cancer fifteen years prior to our meeting, and all her children are married and trying to make a living in America. She lives alone in an apartment full of memories that can only hurt her. Many have tried to convince her to sell the place and move out so she can live without the burden of her past and thoughts of what used to be, myself included, but she remains adamant. What is even more amazing is the fact that she has never once been verbally found complaining. Instead of seeing her husbands death as a financial burden from the hospital bills at attempting to lengthen his life, she says she's glad he's finally at peace and knows he's watching her and being her strength mentally, emotionally, and spiritually instead of physically like before. Her children? Becoming the phenomenal people she knew they would always become. Her solitude? A chance to look inside herself and forget the anger, hurt, and sadness she has harbored for decades and become a better person than she is today.  
   
 "Nathaniel! Bite your tongue!" Mrs. Belamy chastises. She ponders my face a moment and smiles nostalgically. "Your hair reminds me of the most beautiful sunset I have ever seen in my life.. This was back when I was still young and my hip wasn't so loud and demanding. I went hiking with my husband. It was going to be an overnight camp out to enjoy the fullness nature had to offer. I was not like other women, and enjoyed that sort of thing. I even wore trousers, much to Mr Belamy's surprise. Ah, his face when he saw me." She laughs with glee and claps her hands delightedly at the remembrance of things long since past.  
  
"We decided to camp beside a lake. It was a pretty location, and the birds only confirmed our excellent choice. The sun was setting, and I remember peeking out our tent door to look for Artus, when the sun hit the lake just right, and set the lake and the world around us afire... You haven't seen beauty till you've seen a sunset as magnificent as that."  
   
I find myself smiling, lost in the moment of the story she shared, and she gazes back at me with an intensity I haven't seen in her eyes before.  
   
“You’re a patient young man, I can see it. There’s a tenacity that most your age lack. Don’t sell yourself short. You’re worth more than other's have priced you at. I hereby declare you as 'invaluable', and I dare anyone to say otherwise."  
  
 I stare in wonder at the determined woman in front of me and feel my face flush subconsciously. Her declaration leaves me speechless, and it takes a moment for me to remember how to properly speak.  
   
“ _Merci beaucoup_ ,  _Mademoiselle_ _Belamy._ ” I bow my head to hide my red face and head back to the service counter.  
   
My reaction isn’t so much embarrassment as it is shock. No one has ever given me a compliment, and not one as sincere as she had. I struggle to steady my hands as I take it upon me to go to the storage room and grab more to-go cups. I want so desperately to believe everything Mrs. Belamy says; That maybe I am important, that I am somewhat attractive. I want to be totally convinced, because if it is even slightly true, I have a chance against Agreste.  
  
Pulling out a box from the shelf, I resignedly head back to the service counter. Dropping the box onto the floor in front of the cabinets, I squat down and finally sit cross-legged. Opening the cabinet doors that hold the extra cups and their caps, I begin the mindless task of refilling the reserves. considering the dullness of it all, I let my mind wander and drift. But with the record I have, it probably isn't the best idea. My countenance is stormy, and I feel as if I could snap any moment. Agreste.  
   
Why can’t Adrien see her? I mean, yes, she is visible, but he is completely unaware of her feelings and behavior around him. It makes me think that he is purposefully ignoring her. As if it isn't torture enough for her to keep her feelings for him hidden, he seems to be toying with her. Either that, or he is just oblivious to the actions of an infatuated young girl. I slam a stack of cups to the back of the cabinet, frustrated. I reach to grab another stack, but my hand stops, and my mind switches gears.  
   
Do I want him to see it? Do I want him to see her as I see her? The way her laugh warms me and the kindness that emanates from everything she does. The simple way she brightens a persons day by greeting them, or the way she leads with such grace.  
   
Do I really want him to notice it?  
   
Shaking my head and grabbing the empty box I head out back, break it down and chuck it along with my reservations into the garbage bin in the alleyway. Wiping my hands and my regrets away, I head back inside.  
  
Stationing myself back at the service counter, I glance at Mrs. Belamy and smile to myself.  _Oh, I am patient,_ I muse as I take care of the customer waiting.  _I won't give in till the race is officially called and we're handed our medals._  
  
The cash register opens with a ping, and I smile at the customer brightly in parting.  
   
_And I’m shooting for gold._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm in love with Mrs. Belamy. XD She is the grandmother I never had, and I want her to be full of imperfect perfections, which will be more prominent as the chapters go by.
> 
> I know, a bunch of fluff, but I'm getting there!! >w


	5. And So It Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Yet, while that heart is still unwon, oh! Bid not mine to rove,  
> But let it nurse it's humble faith, and uncomplaining love;"  
> ~John Moultrie
> 
> Nathaniel's first step is a rather large one- one that will take all of his friends' support. Yet, his courage seems to be... Growing?  
> And it seems Adrien seems to suspect foul play in that unfair game they call "love".

"So, what's the plan?"  
  
I look around me nervously. It's early Monday morning, and my blunette radar is on high alert. I don't know how I am going to pull it off, but I have high hopes that the stealthy part of my brain will know what to do.  _Then again,_ I wonder pessimistically,  _if you even manage to get the courage do it, that will be a miracle in the making._  
  
_"_ Not pass out, that would be a good start." I mutter. Ivan watches me closely for a second as we casually walk to the wing of the school where Marinette's locker is.  I finger the gift carefully, the wrapping crinkling ever so slightly as I struggle to calm my nerves. I repeatedly run the numbers through my head, trying desperately not to forget the order. Poor Alya had been so confused the night before as I had talked to her over the phone. I had inquired of her so quickly and in hushed tones that she couldn't understand a single word I uttered. It took several tries before I could finally form coherent speech, and Alya had laughed at my anxious and skittish behavior and gladly gave me the information, saying it was sweet of me. Thankfully, not many questions were asked, so I didn't have to explain myself.  
  
Ivan laughs as I check around me for the hundredth time, and I scowl at him. "You're acting like you just killed a guy, Nath. Even if she happens to come early and sees you, we aren't raiding her locker yet, so chill-"  
  
I shoot him a glare and he rolls his eyes.  
  
"Do you have to announce everything to the whole school?" I grumble. Ivan grins and shakes his head. Putting his arm on my shoulder, he walks leisurely with me for a while.  
  
"It's good to see you jumpy about this. I was afraid you were set on being forever alone." Ivan knocks me over the head with his fist and shifts his back pack. "We're here, so I'll stand over here and keep watch."  
  
I gulp and nod as he points to the staircase to his right. The lockers are just ahead but the hallway seems to stretch and lengthen, making me nauseous. Such a long way to walk. And what if in the long run, she doesn't like the gift? What if the symbolism is lost on her? The "what if's" bombard my thoughts left and right, lighting my doubts brighter than my courage can handle.  
  
 turn back to look at Ivan. He see's my worry, whips out his phone, and his thumbs move faster than a camera flash. My phone vibrates, and I pull it out.

  
**_"Cowards die many times before their deaths. The valiant never taste of death but once."_**  
 

I look up to meet my friends eyes, and he smiles and jerks his head towards the lockers behind me. I take a deep breath, shove my phone back in my jeans pocket, and take the first agonizing step forward.

                                                                             ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
                                                                            
"Can I go hide under a rock for the rest of eternity?" I flop onto the grass beside my friend and look up at the sky littered with white, puffy clouds. Ivan snorts and returns to eating his apple. We sit in comfortable silence for a while, both lost in our own thoughts.

I had done it. I had successfully found her locker, opened it, and deposited my gift in a visible spot. I felt like I had been invading personal space, but the gift wouldn't fit in the slots. What choice did I really have? I could have given it to her face to face, watched her open it, and explain the meaning and my total and absolute devotion to her. Hah. As if that would have gone over well. I would have been a verbal klutz and probably said something stupid. Like usual. I close my eyes and groan. 

"I feel like a criminal." I moan and throw my arm over my eyes.

"Yeah, you're definitely a criminal, dude. One that leaves gifts in the locker of the girl they have a thing for. Totally gonna get you put in prison for life."

I lift my arm and narrow my eyes at him. "Laugh at me all you want, but this is really going to keep me up all night. You have no idea."

"Yup, no idea. Cause Mylène has always been my girlfriend." Ivan grunts and stands up to throw his apple core away. "I totally get it. I was always sick to my stomach thinking about having to confess my feelings, wondering if it was even worth the trouble telling her. I mean, she was practically married in her head to Jagged Stone. Who can beat a rock star idol?"

I shake my head. "Still, you had it so much easier. You had Ladybug's help, for crying out loud!"

Ivan laughs and sits back down beside me. I sit up cross-legged and put my head on my fist, disgruntled.

"You forget, I was the one who wrote the lyrics to the song and came up with the idea to sing to her." He points out. I wrinkle my nose and raise an eyebrow.

"Yeah, if I ever get that desperate, please stop me. Remind me again how that was a good idea?" I joke. He punches me in the shoulder and I rub it, mumbling a soft 'ow'. 

"Don't knock it till you try it." He warns me good-naturedly He lays on the grass and puts his hands behind his head. "That was the only way I knew how to convey my feelings back then. Everything else made me want to puke, turn tail, and run. I was freaking fifteen. I didn't know how to deal with that weird emotion that gets a bad wrap in teenage years."

I sigh. We both go silent for a minute, then he looks at me with a grin.

"So what'd you get her?"

I roll my eyes and stand up, brushing off my pants and picking up my backpack. "I don't know if I should tell you. You seem awfully chatty today."

Ivan guffaws. "I'll figure it out soon enough!"

"Uh-huh. Have fun finding out with the rest of everyone else." I yell over my shoulder as I head back to school.

I step inside the building and start heading to physics when I see Alya, Marinette, Nino, and Adrien grouped together in the hall. Alya is smiling widely with glee and Nino has his arm around her, talking to Marinette brightly. Agreste is silent and looking more than troubled. Marinette is silent and in awe as she stares into her hand. Alya sees me and her eyes widen happily. I cock my head slightly and she grins. I freeze and realize what is up.

"Hey, Nathaniel!" She greets me with over-exaggerated stress. I cringe internally as all eyes turn to me. Alya knows, and probably Nino, as he winks in approval, but both Adrien and Marinette turn dazedly in my direction.

"What's up?" I try to appear nonchalant. My heart is beating louder than seemingly possible, and I can feel my hands go cold.

"Oh, nothing much." Alya pipes up and looks at Nino proudly. "Marinette just got a  _fantabulous_ gift. Right, Marinette?"

She doesn't answer, just stares at me. Or rather, through me.

"Really? Let me take a look." I put as much enthusiasm behind my words as I can, approaching as I do so. I look into her hands as she holds the necklace delicately, and I feel almost touched. She treats it with so much care, and at last she smiles. The silver and diamond shine under the faux school lighting, and along with her smile, the school is beautified.

"It's a swan." She murmurs. "I've heard they are the symbols of loyalty. They have only one mate in their entire lifetime."

I breathe in sharply, and I hear unintelligible whispers come from Alya and Nino. I was almost sure the symbolism would be lost on her. I almost hoped it would. If she ever happens to find out who it's from, there wouldn't be any denying it. I would have to own up to the declaration. I so desperately want to tell her on my own time, but if she ever finds out, I can't back out.

"Was there a note? Anything?" Adrien asks. I look up to find him watching me and Marinette closely. He seems agitated, and I can't help but wonder why. 

Marinette shakes her head, and pauses for a moment before turning to Alya.

"Can you help me put it on?"

Alya's eyes widen and she quickly grabs Nino's back pack off his back much to his protest, and swings hers off her shoulder. "Sorry! My hands are full! Maybe _Nathaniel_ can help you." Alya openly looks at me with the,  _"now or never, buddy"_ look, and I widen my eyes in horror as I continually shake my head.

Marinette turns to me and holds out the necklace with a bright smile. "Please? It's too pretty not to wear."

It takes all my bravery to reach out and take the silver strands and lift them over her head. Making sure not to clasp her hair into the clasps, I clip the two strands together. hesitating slightly, I look at the nape of her neck and flush, I let it drop behind her collar and quickly back away, finally able to breath.

"I-I-I have to get to class." I mumble a quick apology and bow my head to hide my bright red face. I manage to glance at Agreste, and see the unrest in his eyes.  _It begins now._ I lock my gaze with him, and we both seem to hear my challenge. He narrows his eyes, confused, and I turn away. I manage to smile at Marinette before leaving, and focus on my feet so as not to trip.

"Thank you, Nathaniel!" Marinette calls out brightly, and I can hear the smile in her voice.

I know she is talking about my assistance in putting the necklace on, and yet my stomach flips at the double meaning. My fear slowly subsides, turning into a need to finally confess. The liberation of that moment would no doubt be exhilarating. I may get hurt, or I may find indescribable joy. Whatever the outcome, I am prepared for it. I will run till I cross the finish line, whether I be first or last, and I will look back, glad I had run that race.

_It will always be my pleasure,_ I stuff my hands in my pockets, and lift my head and smile. 

Always.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wonder what the necklace looks like? etsy.com/listing/227648386/delicate-swan-necklace-12-ctw-pen...  
> This piece of work can be purchased on Etsy!! Show some love!!
> 
> Welp, as the song goes, "IT'S GOIN' DOWN FOR REAL."  
> I don't know whether to be thoroughly scared for lil' tomato boi, or really excited. XD I can't guarantee a happy ending for anyone. This is all gonna go down as I write it.
> 
> Question? Comments? Feel free! I need feedback!!! I'm literally at a loss whether this is actually enjoyable! Please tell moi!
> 
> And as always, subscribe and bookmark to keep up with me and the story if you enjoyed it! :D


	6. Recollection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "How do I love thee? Let me count the ways."  
> ~Sonnet 43 by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
> 
> And so begins the realization of the love triangle.
> 
> And Nathaniel is set on making that love triangle a love line.

It is several weeks before I make the next move. It takes me a while to realize that love isn't always planning, but spontaneous behavior as well. It's almost instinctual, that part of you that says "screw it all" and takes the leap of faith that makes you face-palm at the stupidity of it later. Mrs. Belamy always says that is normal, that it is like a child who is learning to walk. Teens learn social interaction by being compulsive. Sometimes I wish that isn't true. But you know, facts are facts.  
  
So, spontaneous it is.  
  
"Want to come have lunch outside with us today?" I suggest in the random break of a conversation as Alya, Marinette, Ivan, and I walk back from History class. Ivan doesn't move his head an inch, but refuses to try to suppress the grin that crosses his face. I nearly take it back when there isn't an immediate response from the intended party. With a sideways look, I find Alya's eyes light up with pride and hugs Marinette from the side.  
  
"Come on, girly! Let's take them up on it. The weather won't be fair much longer, yah know. Mother nature is packing for the southern hemisphere vacation trip, and she waits on no one."  
  
Marinette laughs at Alya's comparison, and my heart does a little jump. "I don't see any reason why not. I'm just surprised we haven't always done it. You two always know how to live life the fullest, don't you?"  
  
I laugh and shake my head while Ivan snorts. "More like the artist here won't eat anywhere else."  
  
"My bad." I hold up both hands in defense, and we all laugh.  
  
"Is it all right if I bring Nino?" Alya asks. We both nod, and Ivan smiles, thinking of Mylène no doubt. I chuckle under my breath, and Ivan casually shoves me with his shoulder. I roll my eyes and continue walking.  
  
"We'll meet you at the Hornbeam tree out front." Ivan calls as we separate to put our school books in our lockers. Alya and Marinette wave as we split up, and I feel my attitude brighten as I wave back. This isn't so bad. This seeming casualness of an invite. A group date almost, yes, but an improvement from where I had begun since twelve years ago. From being infatuated as a six year old, making her little daisy crowns as gifts, to making long lasting friendships as oncoming adults, if not more.  
  
"Oh, man. Real smooth, dude. And I'm not even playing around." Ivan holds up his hand and I slap it confidently.  
  
We grab our lunches and take our usual spot under the tree.  
  
"I'm gonna go get Mylène. Be right back."  
  
I grunt in reply, and lean back against the tree. I can feel the sweater hood of my jean jacket snagging slightly on the bark of the tree, and I smile and lean my head back, savoring the crisp autumn air. Leaves crinkle underneath me, and I feel myself wishing this season will never end. Autumn colors are simply inspiring, and remind me of the lyrics to the song. Humming the low tones of the song, I pull out my sketch pad and grade H pencil, and start to outline whatever it is my subconscious is influencing. My hair falls into my eyes, and I sigh and lean back, trying to push the annoying strands away. Trying to resume, I get a few seconds in before my problem reoccurs.  
  
"You need to start keeping bobby pins around. Don't you remember?"  
  
My head shoots up, my neck screaming at me for my sudden movement, and I find Marinette smiling with amusement. I brush my hair out of my eyes again and huff.  
  
"As if they don't think I'm a girl enough." I joke. "And remember what?"  
  
Marinette dropped her plastic container on the ground a few feet away from me and plopped to sit by her meal. "You seriously don't remember? I don't know how to feel about that." She teases and crosses her legs at her ankles, stretching out to relieve school cramps from sitting all day. "Back when we were kids you would draw a lot too. Your hair was still a problem, even way back then." She smiles at the toes of her shoes, and my memory comes back. I inhale sharply.  
  
We were in grade school. It was the middle of the year, and I was still as shy as ever. I barely spoke, and even the teacher had given up trying to get me to answer questions. It almost seemed like I didn't have a voice. But I was still an avid drawer, constantly using my crayons to draw little flowers, or my parents and me as a happy family. On this particular day, I was frustrated to the point of tears. My hair hadn't been cut in a while, and an annoying lock would always fall in front of my eyes. I hadn't noticed at the time, but little tiny Marinette had lived up to the meaning of her name, and watched in concern. She had skipped over, perused over my drawing with a little smile, and turned to me with the sweetest countenance.  
  
_"You're really good!"_ She complimented.  _"But you'd be even better with this!"_  
  
She whipped a little ladybug pin from behind her back, and I had stared at it, so puzzled. How could I draw better with that? Marinette had laughed her little baby laugh, knowing full well what I was thinking, and simply brushed my hair away from my forehead and snapped it into place.  
  
_"Now you'll be the best artist in all of Paris!"_ She had crowed.  
  
"I still have it." I nearly shout. Marinette looks up at me, slightly confused at my outburst. I look down and flick my pencil between my fingers, embarrassed. "I still have the clip you gave me."  
  
She beams, gleeful. "That's so awesome! I never thought you'd keep it back then, much less have it now!"  
  
I blush, and push my hair back, trying once more to hold back the frustrating waves of disappointment. Sighing as it falls back, I decide to give up. Laughing, Marinette reaches into her little purse and heaves as she gets up and comes over to my side.  
  
"Here." She frowns in concentration and gently pushes back my hair and carefully pins it to the side. Smiling with satisfaction, she sits back.  
  
"You know," she comments idly, "You shouldn't hide your eyes so much. The girls would love that pretty Caribbean blue."  
  
My eyes widen, and I quickly look away from her face. This is not happening. I'll wake up in a few seconds, and be both relieved and disappointed. Then I'll have to do everything over today, without that one heart stopping moment. I don't know whether to be hope for it, or to adamantly go against the idea of this being a fevered dream.  
  
"Now you'll be the best artist in all of Paris!" Marinette crows, and I watch her closely. The corners of my mouth lift, and I decide if this is a dream, to make sure that it happens in reality as well.  
  
"Hey, you two! Got room on that boat for two lovey dovey couples?" Alya, Nino, Ivan and Mylène make their way towards us, and the chaos finally commences.  
  
                                              ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Have you ever seen someone so jealous, they confront you about it? You may not think about it at the time, but when you think back on how they acted, how they approached you, their expressions, you kind of laugh and wonder why they call it "green with envy" instead "red with envy". But, as usual, we never really question it, being taught from a young age the little sayings that stay with us through the ages.  
  
"What are you up to?"  
  
I slam my locker door and lazily take my time before I face the sun god Apollo himself in a passive-aggressive stance. I glance at him disinterestedly and shrug my backpack full of homework assignments onto my shoulder. I don't have time for him. Work begins in less than twenty minutes, and I haven't even began my trek there yet. I try to brush past him, but he blocks my path.  
  
"I'm talking to you, Kertzburg."  
  
"And I'm ignoring you, Agreste." I coolly stare at him. He blinks, surprised I am talking back. Not long ago, I would have apologized, tripping over the beginning of my words, but things were different now. I'm not going to back down because someone is challenging me. Those days are officially over. Time to practice that teenage underlying snark without getting K.O.ed. Ah, what a difficult task when every sarcastic remark is determined to get a spotlight.  
  
"Don't be smart with me." He folds his arms and narrows his eyes at me. "What was that earlier today?"  
  
"Oh, that A plus? That is called studying. Something us middle class citizens have to do to make it into a university." I shift my weight and heft my heavy backpack in boredom. "Are we done here? I happen to need a thing called a job. Not all of us can get paid just by looking good and posing for a camera."  
  
"Quit the tough talk. It doesn't suit you." Adrien rolls his eyes.  
  
"Yeah, you would love for me to just go back to being submissive, wouldn't you?" I bare my teeth into something that resembles a smile. "Sorry, but I don't do that anymore."  
  
We've drawn quite a bit of attention at this point, and many pass us, whispering while glancing our way. The shy boy arguing with the popular model? Quite a sight indeed. Something that almost seemed like ignorance if not noticed. He watches me for a moment, almost acknowledging my existence it seems, before lowering his head in recognition. "Noted."  
  
"Good." I nod, and begin again to make my way towards the exit. I'm halfway past him when he puts a hand on my shoulder and holds it firmly.  
  
"You gave her the necklace, didn't you?"  
  
Hiding as much emotion as I can, I look him straight in the eyes. "And if I did?"  
  
"Don't play with her feelings. Marinette doesn't deserve that."  
  
"Oh, like the way you've played with her feelings? Yeah, I'll be sure to avoid that." I snap. Adrien freezes, and confusion sweeps across his face, dominating his emotions.  
  
"What are you talking about?" He asks with sincerity. I shrug his hand off my shoulder.  
  
"If you don't know, then I guess that's your loss. I happen to care about her, so stop playing with her feelings, and I won't be forced to floor you."  
  
And with that, I leave a very worried and confused Agreste to figure out the mistakes he had made from the beginning. At this rate, he is going to lose that love she has for him.  
  
I almost feel sorry for him.  
  
I plug in my earphones, slide down the rail on the stairs, and land on the sidewalk. Straightening my legs, I look up at the cloudless blue sky.  
  
_Almost._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cool fact: The origin of "green with envy" is a rather interpreted one. Love is considered a sickness, a disease of sorts, and we can get envious through love... So envy is a sickness of a sickness. The greenish/yellowish tint of one's facial areas is considered sickly (No offense to sallow skinned folk). So, combining envy as a sickness and the color green (ew, bile), we get the phrase "green with envy"! The most well known use of this is in the infamous speech of Iago from Shakespeare's Othello: "O! Beware my lord, of jealousy; it is the green-ey'd monster which doth mock the meat it feeds on." (ooooh, scary. (▼-▼*)
> 
> Also, for those who were wondering what Nathaniel meant by "living up to her name" the definition of "Marinette" in Hebrew means "the one who raises (brings up)". Cute, huh? *^.^*
> 
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
> 
> Hmmm..... Is Adrien finally going to notice what's been stabbing him in the foot since episode one? Ugh. I dunno, but I hope it happens soon, cause I am frankly ready for the confusion to end.            (ﾉ｀□´)ﾉ⌒┻━┻   *Table flip*
> 
> How was this chapter? Was it somewhat enjoyable? Let me know in the comments! bookmark and subscribe to me to hear updates on my daily life and the probs of a teen writer (as if youo don't have problems enough). XD    さようなら！（See yah!)


	7. The Backup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I would rather walk with a friend in the dark, than alone in the light.”  
> ― Helen Keller
> 
> This chapter is mostly just fluff of everyday normal life, with a slight build up to the next few chapters. We are finding out that Nathaniel has more support than he previously thought.
> 
> But why?

Shifting the weight of the rectangular tray onto my forearm, I carry the orders of three customers out to their outdoor seated table. As I lay the orders in front of them, I recite the order back to ensure I have the correct table.

"One Caramel Marshmallow Latte, Merry Mint Mocha Frappe with an extra garnish of mint, and a Black Cherry Crumble Mocha with a dash of soy. That it?" I glance around the table and find one of them staring dazedly at their coffee. I smirk. University students no doubt, here to get their caffeinated fix for another grueling eight plus hours of study. The somewhat awake customer looks up and manages to mumble thanks. Nodding my head, I head back to the counter.

Today is more of a quiet day, more relaxing than anything. I have a chance to reflect on the recent happenings. Agreste had been cool all week, and it gives me a sort of satisfaction knowing he is perturbed by the recent conflict we had. He hasn't seemed to have figured out what I meant, and it me irritates in all the worst ways. It's gotten to the point where even looking at him is hard without clenching my jaw in frustration. obliviousness is easy to fall into sometimes, and more often than not is not beneficial in any way. Leaning against the counter, I fold my arms and sigh. Through all this, Marinette never has uttered a word of complaint. She still cheerfully takes it all with as much grace as a saint. I often catch her griping to Alya about how "incompetent" she is at getting her feelings across, or her inability to say anything meaningful much less in a composed manner around Adrien, but not a single bitter sentence is ever directed at him and his ignorance.

Looking down at my feet, I resignedly decide that it's up to him to puzzle out my words. I'm not his dad, and I don't intend to lead him by the hand when it comes to figuring out these types of situations. As I kick at the back of my dress shoes in boredom, a strand of hair falls into my eyes. I scowl at it. I haven't yet mastered the perfect pin placement to ensure a secure fix for work, and so I still suffer from the annoying fly-away now and then. Pulling out my recently purchased "manly" black bobby pins, I pull away the annoying red threads and wonder in amazement how girls can fix their hair without a mirror as I make sure the pins are readjusted enough to do some measure of good. Shaking my head slightly, I test it out. Not bad. It'll hold for now.

"The party is here!" A booming voice fills the coffee shop, and I whip my head to the entrance with a large smile, knowing all too well the deep tones. 

"Ivan, my man! What brings you around?" We fist bump over the counter, and he grins. 

"Coffee. What else? Do you guys have the Pumpkin Pie Latte up yet?" He looks up at the menu above me and grins. "I'll take two. For here."

I look over his broad shoulder and raise an eyebrow. "You aren't going to down both of those yourself, are you? I don't see little future Mrs. Bruel around. Is she hiding behind you? Our boss isn't that scary." I grab two cups nonetheless and begin the process of making our seasonal brew. The smell of hot coffee fills the space briefly as I instinctively pour the ingredients in without a second glance. The movements are second nature, and even my manager admitted there weren't any complaints from the customers I handled in the past. I know what I'm doing when it comes to a good blend. Grabbing two sticks of cinnamon, I plop them into the cups and set them in front of my friend. He slides the money my way, and I ring up the change. "Or am I the scary one, suddenly?"

He snorts and holds up a bag in answer. Slightly puzzled, I briefly read the logo. I immediately feel the blood leave my face and narrow my eyes suspiciously. "You didn't."

"Dude, the ink on this bag don't lie." Ivan chuckled. "No better way to enjoy an evening than with the best raspberry scones in town and order some seasonal coffee at the renowned cafe around the block. Got some time to chill?"

I glance around me, and find my manager working on an order. He doesn't look up from his work, but I know he heard.

"Ten minutes." He says as he flamboyantly brings out the whipped cream and cinnamon stick to top off a Red Hot Cinnamon Latte. I see him smile slightly, and I praise every extraterrestrial being I have ever heard of for such a lax manager.

"Let's go." I throw off my waist apron and grab both mugs to head out to the outdoor seating. We settle in, and he opens up the to-go bag and hands me two scones with a small plastic container of diabetes that is considered icing. I sigh, but oblige.

"Why do you do my like this?" I groan. I grab the bag and stare at the logo on it far longer than necessary, blinking and hoping it's a lie. No such luck. It's still the Dupain-Cheng's confectionery business logo. I use my cinnamon stick to stir away some anxiety. "Please tell me you didn't do or say anything that involved me."

"I wouldn't do that to you." Ivan sounds mildly offended, and I let my head sink lower in both relief and shame. "You're finally taking some steps on your own. I'm not your relationship babysitter, as much as I want to be. All I can do right now is be your coach, and I guess this was a little something on me to say congrats on pullin' on your big boy boxers." He holds up his coffee cup and I gently tap the rim of mine to his before we sip the piping hot drink. the pumpkin spice warms the back of my throat, and I let out a sigh of satisfaction. I love the smell of autumn. A crisp, lingering smell. It's like the dying breath of summer, bidding its fond farewell until the next year. The warm palette of colors add to my inspiration as of this season as well.

"You've changed."

It takes a moment, but Ivan's quiet words finally register and I look up at him. He's got a calm countenance about him, and he's watching me with a peaceful look of happiness.

"How so?" I take another sip of my coffee and lean back in my chair, exhaling tension from work and stretching my tired muscles. He nods his head towards me and takes a bite of his scone.

"That right there." I laugh at the absurdity of it all, and Ivan leans in, serious for once in his life. "Tell me- four, no- five years ago, would you not have called me liar if I had told you that when our last year of school came around, you would be sitting and drinking coffee with me, talking and laughing? Heck, you have job and the courage to finally go after the girl you've liked since childhood. Nath, you've changed." Ivan leans back and takes an unhurried drink from his mug.

He's right, though. I took a bite of the raspberry and white chocolate scone, and find it surprisingly still slightly warm. Cooking is almost the epitomy of friendship. Someone creates something edible for your enjoyment. The Japanese see it as a blessing, and even the chocolates or treats they create for Valentines are homemade to show their affection. The world thrives around food, but when someone makes something just for you, it strikes a little deeper than you would normally think.

 I wonder if Marinette cooks for her family. I gaze at my scone, lost in thought, when my eyes in horror a few seconds later. That is crossing a barrier that no guy should ever cross before he even starts dating a girl. I feel my face flood with color, and look at my watch, trying to distract myself.

"My break's almost up. I may have a lenient boss, but even I have my limits." I pick up my mug and extra scone and hold it up in silent gratitude.

"We're cheering for you."

I pause. "Pardon?"

"Me, Alya, Nino, Mylène.... We're all with you on this one." Ivan winks and picks up his stuff, preparing to leave.

"Alya? Why Alya? I thought she wanted Marinette and Agre-"

"About that; You might want to think again. She has her reasons for not being so into young Mr. Agreste nowadays." He slaps my arm in passing and stuff a wad of money into my dress shirt pocket.

"What's this?" I ask incredulously.

"Didn't your parents ever teach you to tip the waiter?" Ivan yells over his shoulder, and holds his hand up in parting.

"Hah. Very funny." I mutter, both of us knowing full well I had to learn that stuff on my own. But I smile. It isn't the money that lifts my spirits. It's the thought that I have friends who care, and are backing up my decisions. Indeed, I would have called anyone a liar who had foretold my future back when I was younger. But now that I'm here, I wouldn't have it any other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My feels.... They hurt.... I need my boyfriend to start acting like Nathaniel. Can someone please make this happen? TT^TT Just.... Snuggles, and cutesy little things he thinks and says, and maybe a bit of him talking about me to his friends in the best way possible? I know he lives halfway across the world, but REALLY. IS IT TOO MUCH TO ASK?
> 
> So, yes.... Omg. Alya is leaning towards Nathaniel now. *collective gasp* BUT WHY?
> 
> Oh, I dunno... Maybe you'll find out when Nathaniel gets curious enough....
> 
> Or maybe you'll never know.  
> .  
> .  
> .   
> Hah. Have fun theorizing. XD I am evil. Please love me.
> 
> Bookmark, subscribe! Follow me! Let us go on a trip through the lovely world that comes out of books; imagination!!!


	8. Two Left Feet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "When life gives you something that makes you feel afraid  
> That's when life gives you a chance to be brave."  
> ~Lupytha Hermin
> 
> Alya has acknowledged Nathaniels adoration for Marinette, and readily accepts, if not promotes his intentions. But we all know Alya, and she intends to speed the process up.
> 
> But what happens when Nathaniel fights back, not comfortable with her idea?

I've never been light on my feet. Never. It's a curse I've had since as far back as I can remember. Genes, inherent, or even learned, I can't exactly say. Unsteady is an understatement. I could literally trip over a shadow if I tried hard enough. Call it a gift if you like, but that would be putting it in the best light possible. I have no confidence in any way when it comes to walking, much less dancing. So when the event our school holds every year called the "Snowflake Gala" comes around, I make sure to repeatedly recite my mantra.  
  
  _Two left feet can't make love meet._  
  
"No." I repeat flatly. Alya pouts and folds her arms, leaning against my desk. I ignore her as I sketch an idea for an art project due next week and continue to state my case. "Unlike some people, I actually realize I don't live in a fairy tale. No amount of magic can make me somehow more capable on the dance floor. Unless you've got an enchantment to somehow make me as irresistible in all ways like Agreste, including the dance floor, it's a negative from me. "  
  
"I don't know about magic, but you know who's better than a fairy godmother." Alya snatches my pencil and folds her arms as she looks at her nails in feigned nonchalance. Sighing heavily, I turn to Alya with a raised eyebrow.  
  
"Oh, really? Would I happen to be officially acquainted with her?" I ask with tired patience, playing along. "Cause I have something really pressing to ask her. Like, legit, it has been burning on my tongue since the moment I could comprehend the weight of my existence and compose words to ask such deep questions."  
  
Alya snorts and drops her hand she had been inspecting previously. "I could relay a message."  
  
"Oh wow! I never thought this day would come. Hold on- I'm trying to phrase this right, considering this is my one and only chance to say this-" I use my best acting skills, which aren't that skilled or honed, and brighten as I pretend the right words have dawned on me. "Okay, how about this: Can you not meddle in my life?" I smile in a way I hope looks charming, and snatch my pencil back. Alya groans, and I continue to erase a line that doesn't look completely symmetrical. Alya lays her hand on my paper gently, and I look up, frustrated.  
  
"I can't Alya. I really can't. If I could, I would, but I am physically incapable of successfully wooing a girl through dance. It would be like you giving up your Ladybug blog to become a vendor selling croissants by the Eiffel tower for tourists." Alya wrinkles her nose, and I smile grimly. "Exactly."  
  
"Okay, point proven, but that doesn't mean you can't learn." She encourages softly. "The greatest failure is failure to try." She offers a small smile, and I let my head fall into the crook of my arm. She's right, and we both know it. But fear is a powerful thing. I don't like to screw up without being able to bounce back without too bad of a fall. I will gladly do things that won't have a permanently negative effect, but I can't guarantee anything with unpredictable, thinking beings who have a will and mind of their own. Too much of a risk, not a great success rate.  
  
"And who would you be quoting?" I mumble.  
  
"Dunno. Can't remember. Saw it on the writer's group I follow on Facebook." Alya shrugs without care, and slides her hand and my paper off the desk and behind her back. "Nathan, I usually don't push these kind of things-"  
  
"Yes. Yes you do." I shift my head and give her a look from one of my visible eyes and she grins.  
  
"Okay, maybe I do, but never this adamantly." She corrects with an amused expression. "All I'm saying is I want to help you. As much as I'm able, if not more. Let it be known that Alya didn't back down from the one chance she had to make two of her friends happy."  
  
"And why would you happen to care?" I lift my head and squint in question. But just according to the worlds laws on gender, I seem to have hit a tender chord without realizing it. To my surprise, she clams up. She seems to be holding something close, and it puzzles me a little. Usually a chatter box, choosing to remain silent about something is quite a turn of events. I don't say anything and watch as she clenches her jaw. I blink, slightly surprised. Is she mad at me? _Dear God above,_ please  _let her not be mad at me._  
  
"Mmm... I have my reasons." She responds in a clipped tone. I feel the hair on the back of my neck stand up as I remember the last time I heard that tone. It was two years ago, when she had gone from friendly Alya Césaire to dark, vengeful Lady Wifi. It's not something I like to remember, considering I prefer to remember people in their true character, unencumbered by the willpower of the ever-elusive Hawkmoth. I never try to bring up the flaws of someone when in their worst state. Truth be told, akumatization is almost the unearthing of hidden feelings in ones mind. The fact that Marinette still treats me like a friend even when she saw me at my worst when I was akumatized makes me feel as if I should do others the same courtesy. But every once in a while, I get a little peek of the past, and it's more than a little disturbing.  
  
I awkwardly flick my pencil between my fingers and ponder my options. It isn't the end of the world, I guess, and embarrassment can easily be forgiven and forgotten. In the long run, it doesn't even matter really. The only thing at stake is my ego.... _A rather big thing to be at stake,_ I argue internally. But being a Senior is all about daring to do things you wouldn't normally do. It's my last year after all.  
  
I sigh, and turn my head slowly towards Alya.  
  
"What have you got in mind?"  
  
                                                                           ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
"Oh, you have got to be pulling my leg."  
  
"Neither pulling, nor on your leg." Alya chirps cheerfully as she links arms with me to guide me in the room the rest of the way. I balk and plant my feet. Rose Lavillant is laughing as she waltzes with a beaming Prince Ali. She and the dark skinned young man look thoroughly happy, and I can't help but marvel at their grace. It looks like something really enjoyable. The lilting music that floats out of the room entrances, and I can't help but feel the drive to learn; to be able to learn not only how to move so lithely on the floor, but how to make Marinette smile and laugh like that. Shaking my head, I turn to Alya.  
  
"What purgatory have you planned for me now, 'lya?" I groan. She laughs and simply tugs a couple times, trying to convince me to step onto the worn wooden flooring of the dance class hall of the university. With heavy steps, I hear the reluctant thuds of my shoes as I walk with Alya into the mirrored room.  
  
Prince Ali sees us and smiles in a dignified manner. He says something to Rose before heading to a small table with an iPod and pausing the music. I notice surround sound speakers, and raise my eyebrows, impressed at the funding the dance class gets.  
  
"Welcome, Nathaniel! It is so good to see you again." He approaches and warmly shakes my hand. I smile and dip my head respectfully in acknowledgment.  
  
"Likewise. Is it too presumptuous of me to ask if you came all this way to teach such a bumbling idiot?" I fold my arms and relax slightly, remembering the feel of the quiet banter we used to exchange when we first met. It is a comforting feeling, familiar and welcoming.  
  
Ali laughs, and shakes his head. "No, but do not let that dissuade you from the fact I would if such a scenario had occurred. But, alas, I have been visiting on terms of business with the mayor. It was a convenient happening. Father has been ill of late, and as heir, duties as such fall to me, much to my chagrin." He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. After a moment, he coughs as he realizes his lapse in dignity, and straightens a bit. "Ah, what I mean to say is, it is always my pleasure to serve my country."  
  
I give him a half smile, not envying the guy in the least. He has to deal with much more than I ever will, and the fame didn't appeal to me in the least. Just being on the news is enough to leave me tongue tied and speechless. The fact he also had to deal tirelessly with whatever might be handed to him, and with a smile on his face no less was even more of a setback. I'm more than happy with the simple life I lead.  
  
"Ah, what an unfortunate situation you've found yourself in, my friend. Seems I will only add to your misfortune on this trip" I wink. "You'll find I wasn't given the right feet to stand on. Being my tutor is going to be difficult."  
  
"And that is why my trusty assistant and I will be more than glad to assist you in this endeavor to become the full gentleman that you are capable of becoming." Ali reaches out for Rose's hand, and she takes it with a smile that could light up a moonless night. "You are already a well-spoken person, with a large, respectful vocabulary, and a manner that can only charm any woman chastely and with the honor a female is entailed and has a right to. All you need now is the skill of how to proceed in the ballroom."  
  
I rub the back of my head. "That will be more difficult than you think, your highness." I mutter more than a little regretfully.  
  
"Come now. It is like learning to walk. You will stumble and fall at times, but that is just the beginning! Over time, you will dance as easily as you run. It will be almost second nature." He gestures to the dance floor, and I find Alya already leaning against one of the support railings for the ballet class. She has on a small smile, watching with satisfaction. Such a sly friend Marinette keeps around. It's actually probably better that she has Alya as a friend. Marinette wouldn't impose on anyone, much less for her own benefit. Alya is willing to do all the dirty work, just to see the one she cares about happy.  
  
Ali swings his arm to the dance floor and smile at me. "Ready when you are. Shall we begin?"  
  
With as much resoluteness I can muster, I shrug and unfold my arms and walk to the middle of the room. "Work your magic, Prince Genie."  
  
With a laugh, we begin the many weeks of preparation in helping my two left feet turn into two like-minded feet.  
  
                                                                        ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
"Why, Alya?" I groan. "Just.... Why?" I drop my bag and flop onto the sidewalk outside the studio, and wince as my heels finally relieve themselves of my body weight. One week of this, and I already feel like an old man. I never knew that just by drifting across a floor your feet could protest so much. I imagine how women feel wearing high heels all the time, and I cringe in empathy.  _I will_ never  _underestimate women again._  
  
"You did good today, Nathan." Alya walks off a ways to a vending machine, and feeds the machine money before punching in two buttons. I close my eyes and hear the clang as the condiments are dropped into the slot to pick up. I hear her footsteps, and a cold plastic bottle side presses to my forehead. Opening one eye, she smirks at me and I begrudgingly accept the water. I look at my watch and sigh. 20:49. We held our sessions in the evening now, after both Ali and I had gotten finished for the day, and we borrowed the dance studio that was nearby, since the school wasn't as lenient as we would like. So here we sit, shivering slightly as we pull our jackets on to both cool down and stay warm. The lights in the studio go out as Ali and Rose close up everything, and I stand, stretching my arms and shoulders.  
  
"You'll be the death of me Alya." I let out a huge breath and watch as the CO2 floats away, visible, and then gone.  
  
"I won't kill you until you and Marinette get together. And maybe even then I'll only kill you slightly. Marinette would murder me if I dared to do anything to her boyfriend." She yawns, and I turn away as my face flushes. Whether from the chilly air or the embarrassment of what Alya had said, I can't quite tell.  
  
"T-thanks Alya." I murmur.  
  
"Hmmm?" She smiles and cups a hand to her ear. "Didn't quite catch that."  
  
"You're really not cute, you know that?" I jab, teasing her.  
  
"Nino disagrees." She grins and gulps some of her water.  
  
"'Nino disagrees'." I imitate in a high pitched voice, and in retaliation she launches a bit of water at me while squashing the bottle, sending a spray of water onto my jeans.  
  
"What, are you in nursery?" I retort and brush off little water droplets left that hadn't soaked in. "Fine, I'm ditching your smart arse." I shoulder my back pack and start walking down the street.  
  
"Thanks Alya." I shout over my shoulder.  
  
"What?!" She yells while laughing.  
  
I turn around and walk backwards while pulling a face. "Thanks, you old fart."  
  
" _Pas de quoi!"_ She beams as if I had given her the best compliment she had received, and I turn around again, smirking. Swinging my hands up to hold the back of my head, I smile at the twinkling stars above. Things are starting to look up.  
Way up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YES. YEEEEESSSSSSS. I was wonering how I would get this in.....  
> YYYYYEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSS.
> 
> So yeah, couple things. Remember when Alya quoted something or other? "The Greatest failure is the failure to try"? Welp, that is an actual quote by William Ward! SURPRISE. So, yeah.... For all you know it did pop up on her feed. （￣￣ー￣￣）XD
> 
> And that last part, when Alya yelled "pas de quoi", it is a shortened version of saying "Il n'y a pas de quoi", and literally means "It is nothing!", so sarcastic little Alya has thus become me. She is literally me, and vice versa. XD
> 
> So yeah. Can't wait to get Nathaniel to ask Marinette to the dance!!!!
> 
> I sure hope no one gets in the way of that happening. (=｀ω´=) It would be a real shame.....
> 
> *Sighs* I want a Nathaniel so bad..... Looking through fan art of him has been no help whatsoever. Would it be too much to commission someone to draw him dancing with Marinette? Or would I get thrown out in disgust by the rest of the Miraculous fandom in disgust? XD
> 
> MORE TO COME!!! YIPPEE!!!
> 
> (wow.... This chapter was a lot longer than I thought.... Geezums....)


	9. To Be Human

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Horangi gure gaya horangi-reul jam-neunda"  
> If you want to catch a tiger, you have to go to the tiger's cave  
> (Work hard! You must overcome difficulties to achieve your goals!)  
> ~Korean poverb
> 
> Nathaniel is learning that we can't prevent things;  
> We can only prepare for them.
> 
> And an introduction to a ground-breaking discovery is made?

I clench my jaw as I miss a step again, and Rose peers up into my face with chagrin. She can tell my patience is snapping, and I can see her struggling to figure out if she is the problem. I refocus, trying hard not to appear as though I am going to go home tonight and fling my shoes across the room in pure hatred. I am not getting anywhere as of now. I mean yes, I am getting the basics. I understand what I need to do. But that one step.... I either make too wide of a step, look down at my feet too often and mix up the steps, or simply move to fast for the beat. Rose hasn't complained thus far, but I'm sure she's also becoming a bit weary as of now. Three weeks of practice with only one and a half left before the gala, and I still can't perfect the last bit.  
  
The music stops abruptly in the middle of an arpeggio and I turn and ruffle my hair in frustration. Ali saw it- no doubt- and was going to again attempt to give me a tip that would not result in any success and continue the endless cycle that is my life on the dance floor.

  
Ali approaches me, folds his arms, and stares me down. I look into his dark eyes, and don't know whether to look away in meekness or to continue to boldly show my irritation by staring him head on. Tapping his foot lightly, he waves at Rose and I.

  
"Again."

  
Without the music, we follow the beat of his tapping foot, and we attempt again the steps. The pressure gets to me, and in habit I look down at my feet, as if looking at them will fix my mistakes. Ali clears his throat and my head snaps up. I falter to a stop. Rose gracefully comes to a halt with me. Sighing, I turn to Ali. I give him an apologetic look as I battle the internal screaming.  _This isn't for me,_ I plead telepathically, not willing to put into words what has been bugging me since day one. 

  
"Again." Ali repeats. With a little reluctance, I hold out my hand to Rose and she takes it, still as patient as ever. We continue, but this time I overstep my boundaries and nearly topple Rose as she does her best to follow me. I wince and try my best to continue, but my mind becomes so preoccupied with my mistake that I miss more than a few more steps, and I altogether give up that round.

  
Ali makes a little sound, and I look over to find him stroking his chin with comprehension on his face. "I see."

  
"What do you see? Do tell. I'm more than a little in need of assistance." I bite back the bitter tone, and try to sound as respectful as possible. My tact is growing thin, and I think we can all tell.

  
"Nathaniel, close your eyes."

  
Taken aback, I stare at Ali with more than a little hesitation. I am never one to really fully trust anyone, much less a prince. You can never really understand them. Not unless they want to be understood. Well, that is, no one could crack him, per se, except Rose. But she is the only one who has been able to succeed. He laughs and shakes his head. "Just trust me on this one. Close them."

  
Slowly, I close my lids and stare at the back of nothingness, trying to breath out the tension I am feeling. Better to calm down before anything else.

  
"Now, I want you to listen. Don't open your eyes, don't make a sound, and don't move till I tell you to." He says, and I hear the sound of his footsteps echo across the floor as he walks to heaven knows where. "Did you bring it?"

  
"That I did." I can hear the large smile on Alya's face who had been quietly observing like the blogger she is, and I listen as a bag is being unzipped. "Let me tell you, it was not easy to get this. You sure it'll work?"

  
"Better than any teacher. Well, in a way, it is it's own motivational teacher. But yes. I am most sure of this. If it doesn't work, please hang me for putting you through such trouble with nothing to show for your efforts."  
  
There is a crackling as I hear something being plugged in and the speakers reacting to the new device. I struggle not to open my eyes in curiosity or ask what is going on, and there is a slight silence as whatever is going on occurs.

  
Suddenly, quiet strains of a piano are heard. I breath in deeply, recognizing Chopin.   
  
My mind refers to the repertoires of music I have, and I remember. Sitting in a cold classroom, or rather, in a cold hardwood seat and sketching in our music class. Our teacher was going over classical music artists, and that week it was Chopin. I remember her putting a disc in the bulky CD player, and snapping the top closed before going up to write on the board, " _Waltz in C Minor"_. And then the music played.  
  
I had never been so entranced as a kid, and that started my need for the classical music. For me, the sounds drifted me away to a beautiful place in my mind, showing me colors I had never considered before. Crayons changed to markers, markers changed to colored pencils, colored pencils changed to graphite, graphite upgraded to charcoal, and yet I still feel a stronger connection with classical music than most kids my age.  
I smile, despite my previously sour mood.  
  
But then I hear a familiar giggle and the smile is erased and the hair on my forearms raises. Not only that, I unconsciously let a noise escape me.  
"Ah! No sound!" Ali commands from across the room. I shut my mouth into a thin line. Her giggle resounds around the room, and my mind quickly deciphers that it's a recording. Her jovial little hiccups of glee fill the dance hall. What is this? Who uses this kind of tactic? My brow furrows, letting in even less light through my eyelids. I'm not even really sure what tactic  _this_ is. All I know is that Marinette's laughs are sending chills up and down my spine. I try not to think on whether those chills are in favor or against the use of her voice.  
  
"Oh, you're going to record this?" I can hear the surprise in her voice. She sounds so close. She sounds like she's  _here_. My chest squeezes slightly and I can feel my pulse quicken.  _No,_ I berate myself _, she's not here, imbecile._  
"Alright. Fine. You owe me one, though." Her light teasing tone makes me want to chuckle, but Ali's commands remind me to remain silent.  
Marinette clears her throat, and then she drops into her acting voice- one that always catches me off guard. Ever since I first saw her on stage, I couldn't believe it was her. I was tempted to believe that Ophelia was real, that she was heartbroken over Hamlet. Her every word had me on the edge of my seat for the first time watching a school produced play. It's like a whole other person has taken over, her voice becoming full of another person's emotions. It wasn't all an act, or it didn't seem like all an act when she did get up there, under the bright heated spotlight, the simple costumes and makeup. It was comical when other people tried to act with such get up.  
But Marinette is a different story. She always is.  
  
_" O serpent heart, hid with a flowering face!_  
Did ever dragon keep so fair a cave?  
Beautiful tyrant! fiend angelical!  
Dove-feather'd raven! wolvish-ravening lamb!  
Despised substance of divinest show!  
Just opposite to what thou justly seem'st,  
A damned saint, an honourable villain!  
O nature, what hadst thou to do in hell,  
When thou didst bower the spirit of a fiend  
In moral paradise of such sweet flesh?  
Was ever book containing such vile matter   
So fairly bound? O that deceit should dwell  
In such a gorgeous palace!"  
  
Shakespeare. The most intricate of poets. The greatest of playwrights. And all being read by someone who could entrance me with a mere glance, let alone her voice. I could practically see the emotions flit across her features that appear so natural, even Shakespeare would question whether Juliet of Capulet was really fictional.  
Ali startles me out of my reverie, calling out, "Begin."

  
I reach out for Rose but I'm met with air.

  
"I'm afraid you're going to dance with your invisible partner. I don't think you need to ask who we want you to imagine it is."

  
I set my jaw firmly. Everyone knows. Everyone's somehow privy to my infatuation. I feel my cheeks flush. How could I have been so obvious? The little irritating voice in my head whispers,  _how could they not?_ I'm more than an open book. I've never been good at hiding my emotions. Yeah, I try, but I whenever I do I suddenly come down with a case of temporary tourette's syndrome. Everyone notices.

  
Well, all except the two people involved the most.

  
I feel awkward holding my arms up, but my imagination soon accounts for that emptiness.  
  
" - _Here._  
It will blind you with tears  
like a lover.  
It will make your reflection  
a wobbling photo of grief."  
  
  
As Marinette recites poetry, my mind calms and I find myself floating. My feet seem to hurt less and move in tandem with the beat. I neither slow down, nor speed to quickly. I don't overstep the lead's boundaries, and I feel as if everything is falling into place. Suddenly, dancing doesn't become as much of a chore for me. In fact, it's almost enjoyable. The giddiness rises in my chest and I start to sway, adding a little more looping to the steps, gliding my way across the floor. Then my hands are filled with another's and my eyes pop open. Rose grins happily at me, and I see pride within those bright blue eyes. I smile widely and we continue across the dance floor. I become bold and spin Rose a couple times, and all the while Marinette's voice continued to guide me. This is all for her. No one else

  
All for her.

  
The music subsides and Ali clicks off Marinette's last poem recitation. Rose let's go of my hand but elbows me in the gut gently as she steps to the side. I can tell she's proud of me. And that makes me all the happier.

  
"Well done." Ali claps his hands and faces the two of us. "Marvelous job, Nathaniel! You still have some work. I noticed that little mess up you had, but you continued. Quite suavely, I might add." Ali beams at me.

  
I sigh in relief and hear a snicker from Alya. I shoot her a teasing glare and she quickly looks away, her cheeks puffed with withheld laughter.

  
"And that is why we will finish your lessons here." Ali bows his head in congratulations.

  
"Wait- what?" I gape. "But I messed up! You saw me. I even noticed. I can't just stop lessons now!" I argue. The panic is real. What is he talking about? I've come no where close to perfect yet. There is no way this can end here.

  
Ali holds up a finger. "Are you a perfect human being, Nathaniel?" He asks.

  
"Um, no? That's why-"

  
He cuts me off. "Am I a perfect person? Is Rose? Is Alya? Is Marinette? Are any of us perfect?"

  
I look at everyone cautiously and shoot apologetic looks. "No offense, but no." 

  
Prince Ali nods, satisfied. "Then what makes you think that practicing till pass out will change that imperfection?"

  
I open my mouth, then close it. I know he is being rhetorical and I still want to protest. But I can't. Nothing comes to mind.

  
"To be human is to be imperfect. Imperfection is a part of life. We make mistakes, and that is all right. What is not all right is to think that you can somehow magically make that an untrue statement. You can try, yes, but you will most likely fail. And that is okay."

  
I look at the ground.

  
"But what you have shown me is that you can solve those mistakes by moving one step ahead, by glossing over it and moving on, not dwelling on what you failed to achieve."  
I stare in amazement. "Are you sure you're teaching a dance lesson, Al? This sounds awfully philosophical."

  
And at that, Ali laughs. "Be sure to credit me when you write your book."  
                                                                               

 

                                                
  
I shuffle into my room and flop onto my bed in exhaustion.

  
" _A-pa!"_ A tiny voice squeals quietly in pain. I wince and shoot out of bed. Rubbing his little head, a tiny kwami floats out from among the sheets.

  
"Two years I have dwelt here, and you have not learned to pay mind you have a companion who shares your abode."

  
"Good evening to you too, Horangi." I try not to sigh and puff away the little thing with my outburst of air.

  
Horangi mutters a little in Korean and I try my best not to mentally translate his sentences that were undoubtedly berating as I trudge around my room, preparing for bed.

  
Horangi is a minuscule floating critter that I used to think of as a bug. But being mammal quickly ruled that thought process out. I soon just accepted him for what he truly was: A white tiger who happened to fit in my palm and float around in the weirdest way.

  
I came across him as I had traveled in Korea at one point. I was studying abroad for art, a special program that turned out to be more expensive than it was really worth and hadn't been beneficial to me in any way. I had been walking with my group along the streets back to our hotel when a man had run past me, shoving into my shoulder and bolting quickly out of view in the crowded street. He had dropped a little box shaped in a curious octagon form. Beautiful dark wood and intricately carved, I knew the owner would want such a prized looking possession back. But that would prove harder than I originally thought. There had been no identification, no tags, nothing. So the police- who had not cared a single bit in the first place- waved me off, saying to keep it.

  
And when I finally opened the thing, I sealed the deal that would make me the owner of a foreign miraculous.

  
When I came back and began my do-gooding, I became known as Huin Goyang-i, or the White Cat. And the media _loved_ it. A new superhero in Paris, and one that could possibly challenge Chat Noir's position as the cat of Paris. And I didn't blame him. After all, Chat Blanc has no place saving the people he himself wasn't sure he could save.  
I soon got over it, and I'm more comfortable working alongside Ladybug and Chat Noir, but I've never felt better than anyone in any way like the media seems to praise us for. I've always felt like plain old Nathaniel.

  
Horangi looks in the window at his reflection and gingerly touches his head, theatrically wincing in a way that told me he was exaggerating to worsen my guilt that is pretty much nonexistent. I roll my eyes heavenward and grin before I drop to my knees softly - so as not to alarm my parents- and clasp my hands in fervent supplication.

  
"Oh, Magnificent Horangi! I apologize greatly for the problems I have caused you. Will you forgive me?"

  
We stare at each other for the briefest of moments, and we both erupt in snorts.

  
"You are a poor actor." Horangi chuckles his odd chuckle, something between a laugh and a purr.

  
"Right you are." I close my eyes and smile. "Right you are."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY, HOLY FRICK A FRACK  
> I am sincerely sorry for the long delay. Holy crap, time got away from me. *coughs* This chapter may or may not have been somewhat filled with writers blocks... So I had to take frequent and long intervals of breaks. XD I AM SORRY.  
> So the poems/plays in this chapter where as follows:  
> Juliet's Monologue from Romeo and Juliet, by William Shakespeare  
> Valentine, by Carol Ann Duffy  
> Horangi in Korean means tiger.... So.... Yeah.... Dunno if I'll keep that. XD His name might change. Sorry!  
> For those of you who are slightly confused, yes.  
> Nathaniel has been given a miraculous in my story.  
> a FOREIGN miraculous.  
> *gasp* what could this possibly mean?!  
> ...  
> You'll see. XD  
> Thank you all for the wonderful feedback! I'm so blessed to be graced with your kind words!!!  
> Love and hugs!!


	10. Promises and Regrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Love hurts. It hurts a little more than it's worth."  
> ~Anonymous
> 
> It's D-day, and the squad is on edge.
> 
> It's do or die.
> 
> But what happens when something- or someone- gets in the way?

"Stop. Everyone just.... Chill." I groan and open my locker with a jerk.

  
Alya has her arm looped in Nino's and rolls her eyes as she scoots in closer to me, obviously still not giving up. Ivan watches with a amused, lazy smile. His posture says, "fine", but the look in his eyes say "You're not getting out of this".

 

"Back off Alya." I kick her foot as I swap out curriculum textbooks. "I'm not going to have you being nosy this time around. Don't even try it with me."

  
"I'm not suggesting that I stick around for anything, but I can arrange a safe place to spill your heart to the lucky lady." Alya purposefully doesn't say  _her_ name,  the relief and fondness for my friend grows. But that isn't enough to stop me from shaking my head.

  
"No, no, and no." I adamantly refuse. She frowns but backs down, muttering something about ungratefulness and moody artists. I grin lopsidedly.

  
"No offense to your GF, bro." I cock my head at Nino, who waves it off.

  
"I'm just here for the ride, dude. Do what you gotta do."  He slips his arm out of Alya's death grip and puts it around her shoulders. I hold back a snicker. Being the boyfriend of a crazy girl must have taught him a few things in terms of suave moves to avoid alarm and uncomfortable clinging. It's admirable, really. He's determined enough to stick by Alya and comes up with ways to play it cool, all while being comfortable himself. I make a mental note to have a sit down with him one day and ask him what his secret is.

  
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Ivan texting and glancing at me.

  
"I swear to every mythical being Ivan- You know better than to cross me." I snatch his phone and glance at the contents. Then I snort.

  
"Mylène isn't going to somehow change my mind either, I'll tell you that right now." I give him the stink-eye while handing his phone back and Ivan sighs as he erases the start of a text. It isn't a condescending sigh, but an anxious one- as if the only way he isn't even aware he let out an outburst; unconsciously letting his thoughts escape him through a mere slip of his diaphragm. With a slight glance around, I see his sentiments echoed in everyone's countenances. They're is worried. Whether for me or the outcome, I can't say. It's nice- the gesture they're showing, not saying- but it still slightly bruises my pride to think they are troubled enough to practically set the whole thing up. Some things you just have to do on your own or else it feels like you've somehow managed to get the whole event served to you on silver platter.  
  
Alya opens her mouth, working on another attack, but I notice Nino's foot shift and knock hers gently. Barely a movement at all, but Alya registers it. Her tense shoulders relax and I can practically see the gears in her head winding down. All hail Nino Lahiffe.

  
"I'm all right. Really, guys. Thanks for worrying, but I got this." I smile at them each in turn, and they all visibly relax slightly. Smile. That always does the trick. No one can be panicking inwardly if they smile. So they think. I've gotten pretty good at pretending nothings wrong as the panic rolls in like waves. At least... I think. They haven't let on to it, but I guess I would be none the wiser. I'd rather not try and figure that out, though. I value my peace of mind more than my curiosity being sated.

  
Easing my breaths in an out, I breathe slowly, desperately trying to remain outwardly emotionless. As I turn on my heel to leave, I'm suddenly aware that this will have been the biggest step I have ever made in terms of Marinette. It's no secret that I can barely look at her without feeling the need to rush to the bathroom and heave from the nerves. Or at least it feels like no secret. My trepidation seems palpable, as if someone could look at it, reach out to touch it, and say: "Yup. Nathaniel's got the hots for Marinette."

  
I swallow.

Today is going to be a  _long_ day.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
  
A nudge bolts me to reality, and I look at Ivan with a  _what do you want?_ stare that I hope looks as deadly as it feels going across my features.

  
He nods his head to my paper, and I wince as I look down. My doodles are rampant and unkempt- lines sporadic, thick, and obviously agitated. Some sketches even overlap each others' edges. All of them are putting light to how perturbed I have been all day.

  
"You have  _got_ to be kidding me." I mutter under my breath.

  
"Would you like to share your resentments of Immanuel Kant and his philosophies to the class,  _Monsieur Kurtzberg?"_ Our teacher folds her arms and looms over me as she looks down her nose at me with disapproval. I look up sheepishly and hunch my shoulders with regret.

  
"No, ma'am." I refuse meekly with as much contrition I can put into my tone without sounding insincere. She  _hmph's_ slightly, but moves on, continuing to rant about Kant's something or other philosophy on something I know for certain I will not need or care to remember. Huffing, I let my head fall onto the desk and silently chastise myself. Getting all worked up over asking a girl to dance is juvenile. That's something you do in c _ollège,_  where hormones are just starting to kick in and you fiddle with your uniform like the ball of nerves you are. I've got more years under my belt. I've got this. Sort of... I hope...

  
I fight the urge to groan and lift my head.

  
_Focus,_ I command.  _When all else fails, just be brainless._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
  
Being brainless only works when you aren't faced head on with the problem.

  
Or technically, when you nearly slam headfirst into it. Literally. Papers fly everywhere, along with my attempts at keeping calm.

  
"I'm so sor-" I start to apologize, but my mouth freezes as I'm met with the head of a blunette. All comprehensive thoughts vanish, and I can't help feeling like I need to rush for the water fountain or vending machine. Something. All I know is my mouth is unbearably dry, and there is no way I can talk like this. I instead drop to my knees and bow my head as I scramble to gather the lost papers before too many feet carelessly walk on them. Anything to keep from maintaining eye contact.

  
"Heya, Nathaniel!" Marinette crouches with me to pick up the papers she dropped and looks up at me with an embarrassed grin. "Sorry for bumping into you. I've... had a lot on my mind lately. I'm such a klutz." She sighs regretfully, as if expelling her frustrations of herself she's held for as long as she can remember. 

 

"You're talking to the guy who was called 'Klutzberg' half his life." I mutter in a low voice that I hope she can't hear. She doesn't. Or chooses not to acknowledge it. I swallow.

  
I had said I could take care of this myself, but I realize a little late that I may have been wrong. I should have realized how difficult it was going to be. I seem to have forgotten how much of a dolt I turn into when talking to Marinette. Statistically speaking, I'm sure there are not great odds when it comes to asking your crush out in a successful way. And I'm living proof. I facepalm internally at passing up Alya's offer, but there's no going back now. Suck it up and ask her!

My stomach clenches and I open my mouth, desperately trying to force sounds out of my mouth.

  
_Do it, idiot._

  
"H-hey, M-M-Marinette-"

  
She glances up at me and brushes her bangs out of her eyes to better look me in the eye. My throat seizes up.

  
_ASK._

  
"D-do you-"

  
She cocks her head slightly.

  
"D-do you hear Ivan calling? I think I hear Ivan calling. I-I gotta go." I stand quickly and bow- which I know I will be mocking and banging my head against a wall for later. "I'm sorry for bumping in to you."

  
She stands as well and smiles kindly while shaking her head. "It was really my fault. Don't worry, Nathaniel. You beat yourself up too much!"  
And with that, she waves and walks off.

  
And I'm left to berate myself a little more than verbally.

  
Strike one.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
  
**_ YOU DID WHAT?! _ **

  
Alya's hand writing has been overlapped multiple times and looks ready to leap off the page and strangle me. I would strangle myself too, had I not been so weary from mentally bludgeoning myself, cursing that insecure gene I somehow managed to acquire. I don't know my parents well enough to know who it came from, but I suspect my father has a big part. He can't have only given me my red hair. 

  
I had written the whole scene on a piece of paper and dropped it on Alya's desk as I headed to my seat a couple rows back.

  
I pride myself on not feeling the need to sit in the way back anymore. The urge is simply not there anymore. There's no appeal, no feeling of commitment... Just a little shame at having been so "woe-is-me". It feels as if I was purposefully shouting in nonverbal actions as I claimed my seat every year, "look at me! I'm depressed and probably suicidal suicidal. I'm possibly not going to show up one day, and you'll find me in the obituary if you're lucky." But as I had sat in my assigned seat, I didn't feel as comfortable being in front of the thirteen people behind me, witnessing my conflicted emotions. Hopefully none of them can read emotions from behind.

  
Ruffling my hair anxiously, I glance farther down the page.

  
** Seriously, Nath. Using me as an excuse? You okay? What happened to beating Agreste? **

  
Obviously Ivan's large handwriting, and less foreboding than the former note of aggression. I flush in humiliation. Ivan is my oldest friend, and the thought that he could be disappointed scares me. I know it's unfounded, that he'd never leave me. But that's the funny thing about fear; it doesn't need to be true to be terrifying.

  
_ I know I'm not one to talk- but you need to loosen up, dude. Something tells me that 9 times out of 10, she'd totally be chill about going with you. ~~Assuming she's not holding out for Adrien.~~ _

  
I grin, but it's short lived as I read the note that's not crossed out well enough to hide what is written. I remember hearing about Nino's screw up. He thought he had liked Marinette, but ended up botching  _that_ up from the same nerves that currently seem to think I'm in need of company. _Oh, are you feeling lonely? Here, let's stick around for a while, and we'll only act up when the love of your life shows up. Don't sweat it kid. On second thought, keep sweating- she's right over there._

  
In the end, Nino didn't get the girl he originally thought he wanted, but he got one better- in his opinion. Their relationship might have been over a few rocks and on the threat of breaking up once before, but that only shows how much they're willing to stay together.

  
I continue to stare at the crossed out part. _Assuming she's not holding out for Adrien._ I had never even let that cross my mind. It's more than logical, though. It's simply fact. She would more than accept if he so much as asked her to come help carry drinks for a group of people at a vending machine. She loved the simple things. She would die for the extravagant. Adrien is the epitome of extravagance.

  
I write slowly, trying to keep my letters clear, unwavering. Better not to alert those three.

  
I know. It was stupid.

  
I hesitate, then continue.

  
I don't know if I can do it.

  
I look up at the front of class and find the teachers back to us, writing a formula and how it applies to the equation. Easy enough.

  
I tap my pencil in a rhythmic, triplet pattern, and Nino's hand reaches out without so much as looking up. Smooth until the end. I hand it to him and pretend to be fully engrossed in the fantastic, life changing formula that I will forever use in my day to day activities and will worship like the words of the Bible itself. On the inside, I feel like I'm dying. I had screwed up. Bad. That doesn't bode well for the rest of my attempts.

  
That is, if I continue to try.

   
I see Alya shoot me a death glare and quickly scribble something in a demonic fashion. I wince. Time to prepare for a verbal beating by the enraged mom of the group. She nearly slaps Ivan upside the head with it from anger, barely remembering to be discreet. I see Ivan read it contemplatively and write carefully. If anything would sting, it wouldn't be the sharp words of Alya, but the careful words of Ivan. 

  
The note gets passed back to Nino, and he writes with his fine point pen as usual. Ironic, since he never thinks things through, and if he screws up, well....  
I sigh.  _Do a better job at hiding your mistakes next time, Nino, I_ silently plead.

  
He hands it to me.

  
**_NATHANIEL, I SWEAR- IF I COULD PURCHASE GUTS, YOU'D BE THE FIRST TO RECEIVE A PACKAGE. MERRY- EFFING- CHRISTMAS. I HOPE YOU PLAN ON_ **

  
I don't get to read what Alya hoped I would plan, because at that moment, the paper is snatched from atop my curriculum textbook.

  
" _Mademoiselle Voss?"_ An annoyingly prissy voice calls. "Nathaniel has been multi-tasking. Or should I say, selectively-tasking? All the same, he's been passing notes."  
Chloe. I try my best not to groan. Great. Just what I need: Delay.

  
"Well, then read it, Chloe." Mrs. Voss says tiredly, obviously not all that convinced that Ms. Bourgeois had read the paper before assuming it to be class controversy.

  
She clears her throat, then looks at the paper. And blanches. I stifle a snigger. _Bless you, Alya._

  
Alya had long ago decided passing notes was too dangerous, especially when it involved confidential information. If confidential stuff was read to the class, it would be hard for people to not whisper about it in the future or continue to turn truths into huge lies. So, she had looked up coded languages, things we could use to encode our conversations. And since then, we had memorized and mastered it. It's simple- the technique- but ingenious.

  
"I-I'm not going to read this. French is my first and second language. I don't speak gibberish, Picasso." She sneers at me. I smile back cheerfully.

  
"I believe you are actually referring to Da Vinci, who wrote in mirrored hand-writing? Easy to mix up, I understand completely." I sympathetically cluck, and the class snickers. Chloe throws her pony tail over her shoulder and sniffs. I catch something about peasants and ingratitude, and roll my eyes heavenward.

  
But this makes me feel more in control. Like I have a say in what happens with my life.

  
"Ms. Bourgeois, please do not disrupt this class further. If you payed more attention to the teaching that was going on in this class, your grade wouldn't be half as bad as it is currently." Mrs. Voss seems to be containing her own eye roll, and turns back to the board.

  
Translation?  _Mind your own._

  
Zip devils spawn. One for my newest favorite teacher.

  
After class I step up to the squad.

  
"Never mind. I think I got this. Sort of. Hopefully." I get a little less sure with every word, but it's more of a precautionary than anything. Better to be pleasantly surprised than sorely disappointed.

  
Nino punches me in the shoulder, Alya elbows me, and Ivan ruffles my hair, feeling more like the older brother I never had.

  
"Nathaniel!"

  
My eyes widen and I clear my throat. Speaking of-

  
"Nathaniel, hey-!" She calls out again.

  
"I have to- uh- talk to the teacher. Go on ahead without me." I tell the squad, stumbling over my words. I hear Alya groan as I rush over to Mrs. Voss, and I don't relax until I feel a disappointed Marinette exit.

  
I fidget as I talk to the teacher, feeling terrible after chickening out again. I ask her about the formula, pretending to verify that I had heard it right and I'm not going to mess it up later, all the while feeling sick to my stomach for avoiding Marinette. That was real low. She doesn't deserve that at all. And yet, I pulled the worst trump card to ever use.

Strike two.  
  
  
  
I tap my book and exhale slowly. I had retired to the library to study, but nothing is computing. I might as well try learning by osmosis. 

  
_P1 + ρgy1 + ½ρv1 2 = P2 + ρgy2 + ½ρv22 ..._

  
I can't do this. I pinch the bridge of my nose and breathe deeply. Physics has no formula I can think of to fix or solve the problem I'm in. But graduation is graduation, so physics it is.

  
My head pounds as I continue to solve problems.  
  
_? 2 = ?02 + 2α(θ − θ0) _

  
Can I use an equation to rotate these odds? Or is it already too late? Has Agreste beat me to the punch? No. He's just as thick when it comes to love. He wouldn't have even considered Marinette as a first option. The thought makes my blood boil.

  
_V g = − Gmr _

  
Gravitational potential. Gravitational potential.... Potential...

  
Do I have potential?

  
_Focus._

  
_v = √ 2Gmr_

  
Escape speed. Escape.

  
Escape? Can I escape? Should I escape this situation, or escape the grip of fright and the eternal paradox I'm in?

  
_FOCUS._

  
"Nathaniel?"

  
My eyes shoot open, and my head pangs as I look up too quickly. Angel? No. I flush. Marinette. Close enough, though. 

  
_Stop that._

  
"Are you all right?"

  
Still mute, I nod, but wince as my head yells at me for the trouble. I dig in my bag for painkillers and pop one in my mouth. Not having any water on hand, I have difficulty swallowing, but manage to get it down. Everything's so difficult today. Why? Is it just not meant to be?

  
"Yeah, as fine as I'll ever be... What's up?" I find my voice and shock myself at the steadiness of it. Good. In control. Always in control. Stay that way. I am  _begging_ you. At least appear to be somewhat in control.

  
"I don't know." Marinette pulls out a chair and sits hesitantly. "You've been acting strange lately. I mean, I'm also very strange at times- and it's not something to be ashamed- no- agh! This is all coming out wrong." Marinette laughs uneasily and gets hushed by the occupants in the library. She shrinks into herself guiltily. I sympathize telepathically with a lopsided grin.

  
"Yeah... Not my best day, I'll admit. I'm just...." I pause, and before I know it, I lose all control I have. "I-I'm just a bit nervous." 

Crap.

  
Marinette cocks her head and leans in with interest.

  
"About what? Maybe I can help?"

  
I try to stall, I look around, hoping beyond hope that maybe a book title will give me an idea. _Paradise Lost_? Nope. I don't even have the faintest idea how to use that in a relatable sentence. _Don Quixote..._. 

  
_Dear God, please save me._

  
I hear a sneeze. Books sneeze?   
  
  
I stare.

  
"Nathaniel?"

  
I motion for quiet, and she looks over where I'm gazing intently. I stand quietly and make my way slowly to the aisle beside the table. The smell of dusty books is great relaxant. You can try to describe it in books. You can try to make a candle out of it in the chemist labs. You can fantasize about it sometimes.

It's also a great way uncover unwanted eavesdroppers.

" _What are you guys doing here?!"_ I hiss.

  
"Research." Nino contritely whispers, ashamed to have been caught.

  
"Not me, I'm eavesdropping." His arguably "better" half states without a hint of abashed behavior. Ivan pretends to be reading a book, deeply engrossed, but his ears and neck are flushed.

  
"Nathaniel?" Marinette comes up behind him.

  
Strike three.

  
"This is why I'm such a nervous wreck." I grumble to Marinette. "These people are everywhere."  
  
  
  
"Am I just destined to be alone forever?!" I slump in the seat across from Mrs. Belamy, who is chuckling slightly. I glare playfully. "Thanks a lot, Mrs. B."

  
"Oh, do go on!" She tries to hide her amusement, but fails. "I'm enjoying this tale."

  
"That's it, I'm afraid." I end dryly. "Sorry to disappoint."

  
She finishes in her mirth, then leans across the table and takes my hand. There's the glint of mischief in her eyes- like usual- but her face is solemn as she gazes at me. Usually, when I'm met with such a gaze, I feel as if I'm being categorized as young, inexperienced- someone who needs to be taught in very juvenile, slow ways, as if there is no way I can comprehend what I'm about to be told without dumbing it down. But this is different. This is the look of someone who sees you eye to eye, who trusts that even if you don't understand, they are willing to walk you through it in the way you can grasp.

 

"You didn't expect this to be easy now, did you?" She lifts an eyebrow. I shrug and look at my work shoes. No. I never did.

  
"Don't give up now. You've barely reached the halfway point." She smiles. After patting my hand in a consoling way, she leans back.

"You seem to have customers."

  
I glance at her and smile then yell over my shoulder, "Be with you in a minute."

  
"No, you will be with me now, pretty boy, or- so help me- I will rescind my Christmas gift offer." Alya's voice threatens, and I double take. Mrs. Belamy raises both eyebrows and looks at me. I roll my eyes discreetly and lean in as if to share a secret.

  
"I'd like to say I don't know her, but she'd kill me." I stage whisper.

  
"Nathaniel, I will kick you into next Sunday if you don't  _move. Your. Butt."_ Alya accentuates each word.

  
I wink and sigh, getting up with pain-staking slowness before turning to assist her. And stop dead in my tracks.

  
Marinette stands behind her, checking her phone briefly before looking at me and waving as if to say  _"Hey!.... Again."_

  
_Die slowly, Alya. Die an_ extremely _slow death._

  
I make it to the counter without tripping on air and look at Alya in what I hope is seen as subtle allegation. "Yes?"

  
"Two of the usual." She stares at me, equally challenging.  _Now or never,_  She telepathically warns.  _If the latter, you better be prepared for retribution. And a bill for scooter gas money._

 

I nod. More for the order than what her eyes intimidated.

  
As I brew their coffees, I can't help but peek cautiously out of the corner of my eyes. Marinette stands there, looking around the brewery, drinking in the smell and her surroundings. She's always so attentive, perceptional. Everything is looked at with a curious gaze- perfect for an artist. The world is an art piece worthy of acknowledging. Not many realize it. But Marinette always has. It's ingrained in her. Instinct. And that's the beauty of her. As an artist, watching people is a must, but it seems more like a treasure to see the many expressions on her face. Something to hold dear, to enjoy. After all, I won't be able to gaze much longer.

  
"Anything else?" I set the drinks on the counter and make a point of hovering my hand over the cash register and watching my finger as if it is the most interesting thing in the world. If I look now, I'm not going to be able to hide what I'm feeling or thinking. Colors. Colors. _Colors. Absolute Zero. Acid Green. Aero. Aero Blue. African Violet. Air Force Blue. Air Superiority Blue. Alabama Crimson. Alabaster_  
  
Alya casts a glance at me, then Marinette. Oblivious, Marinette shakes her head. Alya seems to want to scream, but graciously refrains.  _Alice Blue. Alizarin Crimson. Alloy Orange. Almond. Amaranth. Amaranth Deep Purple..._

  
"Fine. Let's go, Mari."

  
I stare at the money on the counter that Alya had tossed, and my stomach twists. My hands clench, and my eyes fade from blurry to clear, and back. Focusing. Refocusing.  _Amaranth Pink. Amaranth Purple. Amaranth Red. Amazon. Amazonite. Amber. American Rose. Amythest._

  
This isn't what I want.  
  
Before I know it, I'm out the door and yelling Marinette's name. She turns and waits for me to catch up, slightly confused. Alya smiles a victory smile, then continues walking. "Five minutes!" She calls over her shoulder.

  
I pause and gulp. Now what.  _Now_ what, you dolt?!  _Anti-Flash White._

  
Shut up. Not now.  _Shut up._  
  
"Marinette..."

  
"Yes?" She smiles patiently. Always so patient.

  
Swallow. Breathe. Speak.

  
"Will you go to the gala with me?" I bite my tongue and look up at the sky. Now would be a good time to learn some creative cuss words. I've done it. No beating around the bush. No cryptic ways of asking. Not even- thank the Lord- stuttering. But now that it's out, all my nerves are screaming, and the instinct to run feel overpowering. I freak out when I'm met with silence, and I look back at Marinette.

  
And my heart stops.

  
Crestfallen. Guilty. Upset.

  
Everything you don't want to see when asking a girl out.

  
"I'm sorry-"

  
And just like that, my walls are back up. I laugh. The most fake I've ever heard. Acting is out of the question when perusing and pursuing careers. "No, no. It's okay. Just wondering. I felt like not going stag this year, and wasn't willing to try going for Estella. She is seriously scary. Not to mention, Alya seems rather persistent this year. It might be because it's our last year, but knows with her. She's a bit-"

  
"Nathaniel."

  
I stop my hysterical rambling and finally look her in the eyes.

  
"I'm really, truly sorry."

  
And there it is. The lie.

 

  
  
"Was that her?" Mrs Belamy asks excitedly as I walk back in.

  
I look out the window. Clear, blue sky. So blue. like oil on a canvas. Don't be upset. Paints. Pencils. Oils.  _Antique Brass. Antique Bronze. Antique Fuchsia. Antique Ruby._

  
"Yes."

  
"Bring her to our family reunion for New Years! I know we aren't family, but please! I'm sure you two would be instant family to the children!"

  
I smile, but it hurts. It hurts so much. "Sure, Mrs. B...

  
"Sure."

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

  
  
  
  
The minute I get home, I call for Horangi.

  
" _Ne?"_

 

"Stripes reveal."

  
And the transformation occurs.

  
I stare in the mirror. As always, the white hair shocks me. Every single time. It's physically impossible to change in mere seconds, but all the same, it happened. My once red hair is now impossibly white, setting my blue eyes aflame like lapis lazuli jewels. The suit fits tightly, with stripes scattered like a tiger. Chains are hooked to the inside of my suit that extend at will, with iron spheres at the ends. But the strangest of all are ears and a tail. I rub the bracelet that's turned from pure white to white with stripes. Stripes that disappear if I use my miraculous. 

  
The power of strength. The power to lend that strength to others.

  
To fortify.

  
But right now, I need that strength for myself.

  
Using the ball and chains, I fly out the window, taking to the clear night.

  
Paris nights are beautiful. Brightly lit, clear, starry. Since I was little, I had always appreciated the land where I was born. But the moment I became Chat Blanc, it became even more breathtaking. From high on the roof tops, things change perspective. You realize how much you've missed from below. At night, the sky feels even more endless, since the stars reach farther than seemingly imaginable. You finally see the Eiffel Tower in it's splendor, feeling just as monumental. You can't explain it until you've seen it yourself. Paintings can't nearly give you the feeling of breathing in crisp, damp air- can't let you hear the dull muffled roar of street life; the music of the cafe's and open air restaurants. The quiet laughter of happy couples. The family conversations around the dinner table. The loner, speaking in low whispers to _Mademoiselle Lune_ as he sips his last cup of tea.  
These are the feelings you only get by living.

  
I alight atop a tree in Trocadéro Gardens, gazing across the way at the Eiffel Tower. The area is practically vacant. The lights shine, casting a glow across the waters of the fountains, and the quietude calms my aching heart. I didn't expect anything. I had not thought as far ahead as the answer when I finally asked purposefully to avoid the doubts and fears. But now... How am I going to deal with them now? If you don't plan for these things, _can_ you be prepared for anything? I lower my head onto my arm that's perched on my knee. My eyes burn. They burn with rejection. They burn with self-loathing. I close my eyes, willing the tears that are welling up to leave- to disappear as fast as they had appeared.

  
_Apricot. Aqua. Aquamarine. Arctic Lime. Army Green._  
  
  
My cat ears twitch, and I hear footsteps. My eyes shoot open and my head swivels at break-necking speed to where my feline appendages had heard the noises.  
Light footsteps. Female. Slow. Troubled.

  
I use my unnaturally well adjusted eyes try and glimpse who is approaching.

  
"Why? Why  _now?_ Of all times?!" She cries out.

  
_No._

  
You have  _got_ to be kidding me.

  
I prepare to make a quick escape, but she spots me. Her eyes widen, and her jaw nearly drops.

  
"What are  _you_ doing here?" She asks, astonished, as if she is the only one who could have possibly chosen tonight to take a walk.

  
You are Huin Goyangi. You do not know this girl. She is a stranger, and you are no longer Nathaniel.

  
I wave at my surroundings and try my best to smile lightly. "Enjoying the view. You don't have such a fine night like this twice in your existence."

  
She snorts, and sits on one of the fountains, kicking the concrete in irritation. "Glad someone can enjoy tonight." She mutters.

  
What is she frustrated about? I'm the only one with that right as of this moment. I'm the one who's been hurt. You have no right. No. Right. I gaze out into the night, nonchallantly inspecting the surroundings. "Care to explain?"

  
 "Explain what? How terrible I feel, or the reason I feel so terrible?" She snipes uncharacteristically, then sighs. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. Don't listen to me."  
I cock my head. "How about a little of both?"

  
Marinette nods, as if expecting that. She leans back with the heels of her hands bracing herself as she looked up into the heavens, as if hoping she'll find words. "Where to begin, where to begin..." She muses in a monotone, tired voice. "Warning: this might get girly... So... Try to be feminine for the duration of the whole thing."  
I bow my head. "Noted." This ought to be interesting.

  
"So, a few days back, a good friend of mine started disappearing for a while." Marinette's eyes glaze over, reliving her moments. "She's always been available in the evenings, but she got busy a couple of weeks ago. She just wasn't able to hang out late in the evenings like she used to. It was really fishy too. She wouldn't tell me what she was doing, and refused to let me tag along either. She's always so open about everything, but suddenly, she was just... Locked down like Fort Knox. And then, barely a week ago, she had me read poems and sonnets. She even recorded them. But again, top secret, no Marinette's allowed, and her lips were sealed." Marinette frowns and crosses her legs at the ankles.

  
My mouth goes dry. The lessons.

 

"I didn't think much of it at the time, and still don't mind too much. It's passed now. She's back to normal."

 

I fidget atop my tree limb. My curiosity will probably be the death of me at one point. "Go on."

  
She shoots a sideways glance at me. "How do you know there's more?"

  
I shrug, but inside I'm screaming at my idiocy. "There's more to this than just the few weeks of weird contact between you and your friend."

  
She sighs, much heavier this time. "Right. Yeah. Guess you're right. So, this guy I've liked a really long time..."

  
She blushes, and my throat constricts.

  
"He asked me to the Snowflake Gala at our school. It was really sudden, and he seemed just as surprised that he asked. Of course I said yes. I'm starting to think he might be noticing me. Not just as someone he knows, or even someone he's friends with, but as a girl... A young woman." She fidgets at the uncomfortable topic, but continues. "And that's where things get screwed up."

  
I look at my white suited feet.

  
"A dear friend of mine- one I've cared about for longer than I can count- asked me out as well, but a couple days after.... And so.... And so..." She struggles with the words.

  
"You rejected him."

  
Her eyes fly to mine, and they're filled with rage. "I would never reject Nathaniel."

 

"But you did."

  
She looks down, and I realize with shock that there's a tear running down her cheek. "Maybe that's how he sees it." She's so close to sobbing. "I don't think I can face him anymore. He's probably mad at me. He's probably hurting. What if I sent him back into depression. What if he hates me? He said he still has my hair pin. He's always been there! What have I done?"

  
She starts to sob and hiccup, hands covering her face. She can't choose between her love for Adrien, and her loyalty to Nathaniel. To me. Her tears for me are real. They're full of pain and regret. Maybe this isn't over yet. Maybe. Maybe I still have a chance. If she can't bear to lose me, then I have hold of her heart somewhere. So tiny. So fragile. But definitely a hold.

  
I leap down from my tree and cross to where she is. She looks up, and the rivers that course down her cheeks make my heart squeeze painfully. Reaching out, boldly doing what Nathaniel could not, I put both my hands on her cheeks and will her eyes to stay locked on mine.

  
"You'll never have to hide from him. I know he's not mad at you. He'll never hate you. How could he. I bet he loves you just as dearly as you love him, if not more. Don't hurt him by hiding from him. That's the only way you can make this worse. That's like nailing the last nail in the coffin. If you avoid him, he probably will go back into depression. If I had to guess, you're probably the reason he's not depressed anymore. Don't worry, Marinette. It'll be all right."

  
She looks at me with watery blue eyes. "How do you know my name?"

  
I smile. "You think you're the only one I've seen tonight, worried they had lost someone they love?"

  
Her eyes widen. "Nathaniel."

  
My breath catches. There's no way she can recognize me. She can't.

  
"You saw him."

  
Quickly catching on, I nod. The relief floods through my veins. Standing up, I let my hands drop to my sides and unwrap the chains from my wrists, preparing to leave. I turn back, one last thing on my mind.

  
"Don't shun him." I plead with my eyes.  _Don't shun me._

  
"I would never do that." She repeats, and this time she looks down at her fists and clenches them. "If I don't have him, who do I have?"

I nod and aim my chains at the nearest tree. I crouch, about to launch myself.

  
"Thank you, Chat Blanc."

  
I smile at her over my shoulder.

  
"Hey. What are superheroes for?"

  
And with that, I vanish into the night, leaving all fears behind me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was the update long enough for you? XoX Oh. My. Gosh.  
> I hope you appreciate it, cause my fingers and wrist hurts. The joint of my hand where my left hand laid on the laptop is red from rubbing against the edge of my laptop. XS You're welcome.  
> So, I literally smashed my heart into dust. I don't think Elmer's Glue will be able to fix this mess.  
> I personally feel rejected by a past crush. But now that I'm over it, and have my BF, I think I can kind of put the feelings I had into words.  
> DON'T WORRY. THERE WILL BE REDEMPTION FOR THE DOODLEBUG SHIP.  
> Cause this is a Nathanette fan fic. Duuuuuh. Don't close the fricking book yet. ._. XD  
> I hope this suffices for now.  
> But now.... Rest, my precious, tiny appendages..... Rest....  
> Love you all!!! :D


	11. Illusions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I can't fix this.  
> I desperately want to.  
> But I can't."  
> ~A close friend
> 
> He dreams.  
> But dreams can turn sour.

Faded. Blurry. Hazy. Everything you hate in a dream. Everything that frustrates you. Everything that makes you want to wake up desperately.  
"I'm sorry."  
I can't see anything around me. But her voice echoes. Bouncing off the walls. _Walls? Right. Why wouldn't there be? The echoes get closer, not farther. Are the walls closing in?! No. Not possible. Not_ im _possible. Black. Grey. Ivory. Ebony._  
There's no color. None. Nothing to stop my panic. My thoughts are scattered, wild. It's all too dark. Dark. Darker. My throat clenches, and the hysterics kick in. The last time I was in such a dark place.... The last time...  
No. Please, dear God above, no. I look up, and scream.  
The wind tears my lungs. But it doesn't. The scream echoes, but it's silent. My screams shred my throat, but it's numb. Nothingness. The nothingness of a dream. You can feel everything, hear everything, see  _everything_. But it's all a lie. A trick. A ruse.  
A dream.  
 _Wake up._  I grit my teeth and desperately feel for that connection in the real world. Feel the sheets. Find them. Listen. Hear the cars outside. Focus. Focus on the outside world.  
I open my eyes.  
And I'm still here.  
Depression.


	12. Persuasion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "There are three types of friends:  
> Friends for a reason,  
> Friends for a season,  
> and friends for a lifetime."  
> ~Anonymous
> 
> Alya gets a little more than persuasive with our dear main character. And things are changing.  
> Slowly.

I wake up sweating and thrashing, beating at the figurative walls that symbolized my depression. Everything hurts. I'm  sore and I still feel tired. Not physically. My soul is tired.

  
I'm staring at the ceiling, still twisted in my sheets, when my phone rings. I close my eyes and wait a few seconds. Breathe. In, out. Wait. Without opening my eyes, I reach for the device. Pressing answer, I hold it to my ear.

  
"What up, Ivan?" I croak.

  
"I'm outside."

  
I let my eyes drift open and glance out the window. Sure enough, he's outside, shivering and looking up at my window. His jaw is set stubbornly. He knows. I note vaguely that it's snowing. Beautiful. Quiet. Peaceful.

  
"Come on in. My parents aren't home. Weekend turned out to be a living Hell for them."

  
The next thing I know, he's already climbed up the flight of stares and busting into my room. He wraps me in a bear hug and stays there. It's comforting and feels like a tonic.

"Thanks, big guy." I mumble.

  
"You know what today it is?" He pulls back and grins. I put on a poker face.  
"No idea whatsoever."

  
"Therapy day." He reaches in his messenger bag and pulls out his game

console. I let the facade drop and smile. My parents have never thought gaming to be a useful time consumer. I can waste and wile my time and money away with a paintbrush, acrylics, and charcoals, but gaming is forbidden. But now and then, Ivan could sneak in his gaming consoles on the pretense of extra hard studying. And then there's the occasional days that they're nowhere around. I felt guilty sometimes, knowing I was disobeying.

  
What they didn't know couldn't hurt them.

 

  
  
  
The doorbell rings after two hours of 007, and I sigh. I don't know who it is, but I am in no shape to face the world yet. Ivan freezes and looks guilty as he checks his watch and swigs some of his soda. He lets out a curse as he almost drops his soda can and shrinks into himself. It's usually funny to see a big guy like him freak out, but today it's suspicious. I narrow my eyes at him, and he pretends to be into the loading screen.

  
"Go on. That colorful language was quite the feat. Care to explain?" I go to the curtain and hold it back. And then it's my turn.

  
"Oh, sugar honey ice tea."

  
Ivan raises an eyebrow at my version of cursing, but the lightness of the situation goes sour. She manages to get in, and I freak out.

  
"Alya, I swear to the devil him _self-"_

  
She's in my room faster than you can yell "security's been breached".

  
" _Nathaniel Frederick Kurtzberg."_ She seethes. I look at her under the fringe of my hair, chagrined.

  
"Yes, ma'am?" I mumble. She watches me with a look that I know is going to give me bruises later.

  
"Do you know what today is?" Her voice holds an edge that can cut through magnesium based alloy like butter. I see Ivan wince and I try to play it light.

  
"Therapy day?" I smile hesitantly, and she loses it. She lets out expletives and makes a full turn, searching for sanity or something to hit me with. Either one is just as plausible and scary. Nevertheless, I'm ready to duck if she manages to get hold of anything sharp or of heavy mass.

  
"Nath, I swear if you weren't my friend, I kick your-" Expletive, "-in, and maybe then you could walk straight, you-" expletive, curse word. I decide to stop her tirade.

  
"It's because I'm your friend that you're going to let me wallow in my own self pity, Alya." I look at her, pleading. "Please. Can't you do this for me?"

  
"Absolutely no." She shakes her head and throws a plastic shipping package at me. Expensive. "Try this on. I don't care what your plans  _were_ this evening, but they're officially scrapped. Try this on. You have five minutes. Hopefully mister irresponsible got the right measurements." She flicks a thumb at Ivan and he snorts.

  
And with that, she exits the room to wait downstairs. I look at Ivan and he at me. He shrugs.

  
"What that woman says goes, I guess." He turns back to the game and begins robbing a bank. I sigh.

  
I try the suit on and stare. Charcoal grey. Peaked lapels. Black tie spotted with small white dots. Low vest. She had also ordered a top hat and gloves. Classic, but in a very good way. It doesn't clash horribly with my hair, and that's what counts most I guess, but for once I don't feel the urge to look away in embarrassment. I feel comfortable in my own skin. Ivan notices my quiet atmosphere and turns around. He gives a long low whistle.

  
"Alya was right. Niiiiiiiiiiiiiice." He throws me two thumbs up. "You look like a nineteen twenty's mob boss off the streets of New York. Minus the hat. You could be the bad guy tonight and get away with it."

  
I raise an eyebrow. "You know that's not how I roll."

  
He tilts his head and gives me the look. "True. But you honestly could. Adrien's in for a bit of a shock, nonetheless."

  
I turn to the mirror and give the new me a wicked grin. "That's one of my goals."

  
"And the other?" Ivan reaches for his soda and takes a long drink. I lose the bravado and gaze back into the eyes of the alien in the mirror.

  
"Make things right." I murmur. "I messed up. Big time. I need to fix that."

Ivan shakes his head and smiles. "You've got a heart of pure gold, I swear."

  
I snort. "If I've got a heart of gold, this world's gone to crap."

  
"Congrats; you just hit the nail on the head. Have a cookie." He chucks a chocolate chip cookie at me, and I dodge it just barely.

  
" _Dude._ " I whine, motioning to the suit. He grins.

  
"Oh, come on. What's a little buttery cookie stain?"  
  
  
  
I straighten the suit for the umpteenth time while we wait in line to get into the hotel's ballroom, and Alya slaps my hand lightly. She gives me a look and I wince.

  
"It's okay." She turns and fusses with my tie. "You're smart and a fast learner. You had lessons for  _weeks_. You've got this in the bag."

  
I look at the intricately ornate ceiling and the Christmas decorations strategically placed to create a festive but elegant look. "Too many 'what if's' are going through my head."

  
She tightens my tie and smiles. "Perfectly normal. But I swear, if you sit this one out, there will be retribution coming your way."

  
I raise both eyebrows, trying to play off the nervousness I'm feeling. "Really now?"

  
"Most assuredly." She pats my pocket square and brushes my hat off of invisible dirt that's definitely there. She then stops her knit picking and looks me directly in the eye. "Nathaniel, we all love you very much. We're family here, and that means we're all in this together. Through thick and thin. Whether you ask for it or not, we will always root you on...." At this she grins evilly. "You may or may not be somewhat embarrassed by it, and it may or not be because we do it on purpose."

  
I roll my eyes, but I feel myself relax ever so slightly. Letting out a long breath of air, we steadily advance.

  
"Tickets please." The man at the door already looks tired and done. We hand the bulk of our tickets forward. He counts them, then us, and lets us in. "Enjoy your night."

  
The sight that greets me upon walking in blows me away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I'm going to get attacked. XD I'M SO SORRY, BUT I HAD TO WAIT UNTIL THE XMAS SEASON CAME AROUND TO RELEASE THIS.  
> Cause.... Yah know.... Snowflake gala? Winter? Xmas? You can't release this stuff  right after Thanksgiving.... #sorrynotsorry
> 
> This was a short chapter, simply because I feel like you all need a sort of break.... And I'm going to save most of the beautiful-ness for the next chapter. Btw, my imagination took me on trips when it came to Nathaniel in a suit... XD I regret NOTHING.
> 
> So, Marinette may or may not be an angel in the next chapter. And I may or may not have given myself butterflies thinking bout it. X3 Gosh, I love this series.
> 
> ANYONE ELSE LOOKING FORWARD TO THE CHRISTMAS SPECIAL?! I HEAR THERE SHALL BE MUSICALS.... THANK GOD FOR THOMAS ASTRUC.  
> Anyways, love all of yah! The support is monumental to me. <3  
> Expect a sort of Christmas/Christmas eve release! ;) 


	13. Closer and Closer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You can be king again"  
> King- Lauren Aquilina 
> 
> Hearts get closer through the grief of the other. But how much closer?

" _I-geo mwo-ye-yo_?" Horangi peeks his head out from within my inside jacket pocket, just as shocked by what he's seeing. I clear my throat loudly and straighten my tie, trying to cover up his purring question. _What is this, indeed?_ This definitely is different. My artist fingers twitch with the need to paint and sketch what I'm seeing. There's no way that the school had the money to pull all of this together.  
  
The room is glittering with lights of multiple sizes; small, large, bright, dim. All across the ceiling are crystal chandeliers with icicles hanging off them, flickering as if they are stars or burning out candles. The extra lights are dimmed for the few candles and icy blue spotlights that are trained on the floor, creating a cold wintry effect while still being cozy and warm physically. Poinsettias and white roses are everywhere- in vases, petals on the floor, sprigs lying artistically here and there. It feels a little   
  
There are live string instrumentalists playing on an elevated platform, their prelude music enchanting as students in elegant dresses and suits trickle in. They play with a feeling that whispers Christmas, plucking here and there like the appearance of snow in your vision. I feel my feet itching for once to float across the floor and to look into bluebell eyes as I enjoy the tones of a heart-achingly soft waltz.  
  
And the lights. Oh, _the lights_. They drift across the walls and floor like snowflakes. Tiny, bright, gentle; Like the touch of Mother Winter, comforting those who mourn the warmth of summer. Softly lulling you with a silent lullaby of white. It leaves my breathless.  
  
Alya leans into Nino with a faraway look in her eyes and a distant smile quietly stealing her features. Nino- uncharacteristically gentle- leads her away in a gentlemanly manner. I watch in amazement.

  
"Well, I'll be..." Ivan mutters in surprise. I nod, just as baffled. Mylène laughs at our reactions, amused.

  
"So, I heard you got dancing lessons, Nathaniel." Mylène chips  in with a soft smile, surveying the surroundings, still just taking in the beauty. I snap out of my wonderment and grin a moment, before dropping it and sniffing in disdain.

  
"I don't know where you heard that, but I'll have you know I was born waltzing." I wink, a nonverbal promise that it's all a joke, and she giggles. Ivan rolls his eyes and chuckles at the absurdity of my statement. With the tension eased, I begin to relax into my surroundings. Despite the snow and frigid air outside, there's a warmth at seeing my friends happy. You haven't felt mentally at ease until "all is well". It's a peace unlike anything you've felt. It envelopes and blankets your life in the best way possible. It truly turns a holiday into something you can enjoy.

  
Glancing out of the corners of my eyes, I see Mylène loop her arm through Ivan's and smile up at him. I look out into the room that will soon be filled to the brim and smile as well.  
  
"As much as I adore being the third wheel, I think it's time to take my leave." I turn to them and bow in a fashion I had observed from my studies of the 18th century and Ali's ever perfect example. Ivan watches me a moment, almost trying to calculate if I'm putting up a front, faking my smile. After a moment he beams, satisfied with my contentment with the situation.

  
"Okay..." Mylène hesitates, slightly worried. She quickly adds, "If you get lonely, don't be afraid to join us."  
I nod, more in recognition of the offer than acceptance, grateful either way.

  
"Adieu." I lower my head in finality and walk away satisfied. This night needs to be memorable. For me as much as them. Of course, I would greet them in between, chat lightly, then move on. But as a couple, they needed memories as well. Ones they could take on to college, even if they didn't stay together- God forbid otherwise. It feels empowering and wonderful to be able to give them the most treasured gift that anyone could give: the gift of privacy. It's the little things that count. Sometimes some space means as much as being able to bust into their house and collapse on their couch.

  
Regardless, I feel ridiculous already heading to the punch table for a drink, but it almost feels natural. I wince and laugh to myself. Of course it feels that way, otherwise why would it be such a popular stag joke?

  
And that is how I end up leaning against a wall with a plastic flute in hand, playing the moody, single teen going stag at a school event.

 

  
Taking a sip of the fizzy sparkling cider, I scan the sparse crowd. It's a couple of minutes before the event officially begins, but all the same I find myself worrying about Marinette instinctively. The snow hasn't fallen to the point that the roads are incapable of being navigated, but you never should underestimate roads prone to accidents. The simplest things cause crashes. I sigh and look at the ceiling. They haven't crashed, have they? Did they take a limousine? Did Agreste's escorts drive? Or is Adrien even taking her to the dance? It seems uncharacteristic, but as they say- never judge a book by it's cover. The guy might have put up a false cover for all know. Enticing, innocent, and perfect on the outside- only to find rotted pages within.

  
I shake my head and groan.

  
_Geez, Klutzberg, way to be pessimistic._

  
"Nathaniel, my good friend!"

  
I look to my side and feel my face light up.

  
Prince Ali approaches- finely dressed as usual in an expensive brand that comes with the territory of royalty- with Rose by his side. I smile and bow in their direction.

  
"Beautiful as always, Rose." I compliment, and she smiles gently back with happiness sparkling in her eyes. She looks content by Ali, and I can't help but feel slightly jealous of them. Just a tiny bit, nothing morally debilitating. Just enough to feel the emotional pinch. After all, he has the one he loves at ease by his side. In love with him to boot.

  
"Did you just arrive?" I turn conversationally back to my dark-haired friend. Ali watches me for a moment with a twinkle in his eyes.

  
"As a personal rule, I like to be anywhere the earliest they will let me in. Something about being prestigious or whatnot." He glances at me from the side and I chuckle.

  
"I'll take that as a no." The prince dips his head in agreement and we share a laugh amongst the three of us. It's nice. The holiday spirit warms me from the inside out.

  
"I have to thank you both." Changing the topic a bit abruptly, I gaze at the both of them in turn. I become a bit embarrassed and look into my cider, swirling it a bit, causing the bubbles to float jovially to the top. "Without your guidance and teachings, I'd be the farthest I could be from here."

  
Ali laughs and I look at him in surprise. "As most of us would if we could. But alas, senior year and such- quite important. Not to mention our beloved partners that we adore enough to give up an evening for. But I digress- it is I who should thank you for being a willing student." He pauses. "Most of the time."

  
I chortle a bit, remembering my frustrated lessons. Glancing at my watch, I find the second hand ticking what seems to be a little slower than usual. I frown, not sure if it's my imagination or if it's just as it's always been. I look around me for another clock and sigh, not finding one. Every moment seems twice as long as it probably truly is. I try to focus on not fidgeting, knowing full well what it might look on the outside to others: boredom and apathy. Not something I technically want to convey. It's like a big flashing sign with bulbous lights:

  
I'm a massively conceited jerk!

  
"It was so nice to see you good friend!" Prince Ali bows with a smile and winks. I stare for a moment slightly confused, then realize what's happening.

  
"As I you." I manage to get out. Formalities feel bland compared to the courtesy I'm being given. He saw my restlessness. No. More than "saw". He acted on my behavior, choosing to give me space. He must have noticed me steadily getting more uncomfortable as the time ticked by. I feel a little chagrinned, but mostly awed at how suavely Ali handled the situation. Definitely behavior worthy of a monarch. I note mentally to add him to my list of role models.

  
Ali holds his arm to Rose and she takes it readily after smiling at me quietly. So understanding, the both of them. It's astonishing really. Another pang of jealousy courses through my thoughts like the ghost of a headache, but I brush it aside to make room for the happiness that seems to drift subtly about them, infectious and wonderful. The atmosphere they bring is almost always practically tangible.

  
Slightly distracted by their beauty, I don't notice Alya across the room waving like a lunatic until she looks to be pinwheeling her arms like in the cartoons. I want to laugh, but notice the frantic look in her eyes, even from all the way over here. She waves again, but more of in a direction now, and I stare a moment more before the puzzled feelings wash away. I turn quickly to the entrance. Not moments later, she walks in.

  
My mind goes blank for what feels like minutes.

  
You have never felt joy and pride until you see the one you love  walk in in a grandeur fashion.

  
Her dress is a vibrant, vivid wine red, set with expertly placed jewels along the skirts. It fits nicely before flowing out at what is about knee length. The dress is sleeveless with a high neck, accentuating her delicate neck and well-muscled arms. Strategically loose and curled strands of hair brush her shoulders like dark curlicued waterfalls. The rest of her hair is braided back into a rose bun, interlaced with pearls and ornate hair pins. She holds a white coat draped over her arm from being out in the cold briefly, completing the phenomenal picture. She's a princess.

  
Crimson, deep blue, ivory, alabaster, glittering white.... I shake my head.

  
Agreste offers to take her coat and I watch her consent with a beaming smile. She seems to glow like a tiny candle, dimming everything in comparison. All through a simple smile.

  
She turns to survey the room and I inhale sharply.

  
From here, her eyes are just as striking. The icy yet warm blue caresses her surroundings, gently landing on everything around her. They're cold like winter, yet warm like the hints of forget-me-not's in spring. I feel myself wanting to hide from them, yet make them focus on only me. I frown at the thought. Must be the clothes.  
I turn and walk. I don't have a destination, I just walk. Anything to keep from thinking. _One step, two, three_. Thinking is closest to mental destruction. _Nine, ten, eleven_. Your thoughts can stray to places you never knew existed.

  
_I need to paint._

  
My fingers itch with the urge to be busy. Alas, I left my sketch book at home under my mattress, much to my dismay. Alya can be rather persuasive....  
Even if I had some kind of art medium, there's no doubt in my mind that I would draw  _her_. She already haunts all of my newly bought sketch and note pads, gingerly peeking from behind a corner, or laughing, or even just showing up in the form of an initial.

  
She's always with me.

  
Before I know it, I'm sitting close to the patio doors. and trying to seem disinterested in my surroundings. For once, though, it doesn't feel in the least bit awkward. I feel okay in my own skin, appearing to be above everything around me. The outfits helps, I admit, but the confidence is deeper than merely what I look like on the outside. It's in who I am as a person. Who I've become since the Evillustrator.

  
I hadn't realized it a week ago, but when I had taken Marinette's face in my hands as _Chat Blanc_ , I had involuntarily fortified her. My gift as a super hero had been used to strengthen her.  _Horangi_ had let me have it in the form of a verbal beating afterwards, fussing about unnecessary power use between bites of specially imported pickled plums and red bean paste, but I didn't care. I knew something had changed as I looked into the mirror that night, my hair back to it's "glorious" red. I felt in control. I had guided Marinette, given her strength, and offered a shoulder to rest on. If I could do that as  _Huin-Goyangi_ , there's no way I  _couldn't_  do that as Nathaniel Kurtzberg.  
For once, I don't even care about Agreste.

  
I blink.

  
 _Wow_ , I think, a little bit surprised.  _Dunno when that happened, but "yay" for me._

 

  
  
I swirl my freshly-poured sparkling cider, watching the bubbles dance along merrily with the chipper string-arrangement of a popular pop song. I sigh. Going stag is still disheartening- not to mention demotivating- even if you are okay with it in the beginning. Sort of.  
 As much as you can be okay with it, anyway.

  
I look out amongst the crowd and see Rose and Ali dancing a complicated swing dance to the music. The people around them glance briefly in awe at the the compatible couple. I look farther to see Alya and Nino by the punch, laughing and tasting the different treats that are set out. Alya takes a sip of cider while swaying to the beat and Nino leans over to say something while perusing the crowd, lookig as if he's commenting on what's occurring around them. Alya holds back laughter, covering her mouth and nose. She elbows him, but he only looks satisfied, leaning back and glancing about him as if the world is beneath him.

  
Searching a little more, I find Mylène and Ivan sitting in the chairs provided. She's leaning her head on his shoulder, gazing at nothing through half-closed eyelids. It's a peacefu look despite watching the world whir and buzz loudly. It's almost a dreamy look. Ivan is just as far away in his mind, but closer to her in spirit than any conversation they could have.

  
And that's when it hits me.

  
Every one of them are okay with each other because of who they knew each other to have been at one point. Mylène had been a literal monster, Ivan the same. She wanted to be brave, he only wanting her to love him. Alya was desperate to be heard. Nino not only hears her, but understands. He also makes sure that life never gets too serious, and that the journey is an enjoyable one. Together. Rose only wanted to show her affection for one and only one person. Ali loved that. And still does.

  
They all fit because they all accept the flaws of each other. It didn't matter to them what lurked deep down. They loved it all.

 

Can I be accepted for me and all I lack?

  
I look to find her; to find reassurance in her presence. If I can just see her, everything will be all right.

 

I stand and gaze over the bobbing and weaving heads. Taking steps forward into the crowd, I look for the little blunette head I have become so fond of.

  
_"What do you mean 'I'm boring'? You're the most interesting boy I've met!"_

  
I search the crowd, memories of her voice at different stages of our lives echoing in my head.

  
_"I love your hands; they draw pretty pictures. You shouldn't hurt them on purpose."_

  
My palms sting as my fingernails bite into the heel of my hand.  _Where are you?_

_  
"I'll always be right here!"_

  
I freeze. She stands in front of Agreste, stock still.

  
A diamond falls. Crystal, delicate, lit by only the dim flickering lights. It crashes to the floor and breaks without a single sound, casting a small puddle before falling still.  
She walks away from him, a smile still plastered to her face painfully. She wipes the second diamond away before disappearing out of view.  
  
  
  
It happens so fast- I barely realize I'm stalking up to Agreste until I'm mere inches from his face. I yank at his expensive collar, not caring about whether anyone see's. I can tell I'm practically seething.

  
" _What did you do?"_ I snarl. I feel even angrier than the time I had felt betrayed by Marinette. I can barely see straight  
Agreste stutters, for once at a loss of words. Nothing comprehensible gets out. I growl and let go, disgusted.

  
"I'm wasting my time." I mutter. Looking out, I put myself in Marinette's place. _Where would I go_? It takes a moment, but I eventually figure it out.

  
The patio.

  
The wind has died down since arriving at the hotel, but the snow still falls like individual, miniature clouds. I breathe out slowly, bracing myself, watching my breath fade away into the inky violet that is the chilly night sky. Stepping out onto the terrace-like patio, I gaze at the scenery. Sparsely decorated, but in the most professional way, befitting a top notch, five-star hotel. Not that I care in the least. I glance this way and that, desperately looking for Marinette, worried. A movement, the shifting of a dress, and I finally spot her. Standing hunched behind an ornate statue. I freeze when I see her shoulders shaking rhythmically.

  
Crying.

  
My throat clenches, but I continue to walk slowly towards her. I get to the statue's right side and pull off my overcoat before leaning on the statue. Laying my overcoat on her shoulders, I gauge whether she needs time alone or a shoulder to cry on. It appears to be the latter, so I look up at the stars quietly. She hesitates, but pulls the coat around her tightly in silent gratitude. The stars twinkle, oblivious to one person's grief.

  
"I should've known, really." She whispers. The breath leaves me like a punch to the gut, but I don't move.

  
"I'm the least ladylike of all the girls I know. A klutz, not to mention a bit lacking in the brain." She laughs, but there's no mirth. "I couldn't even remember to sign my name on the letters I sent him. It was bad.... Technically still is."

  
I wince in sympathy, knowing full well what it's like.

  
"Deep down, I guess I kind of already knew. I mean, it's supposed to be pretty obvious when a guy likes you. I'm not so much shocked as I am.... Hurt."  
I can't choose between laughing or crying at the irony. Double-edged, her sentences can be.

  
Marinette pushes herself from the statue to stand on her own two feet. I watch her closely, not sure what to make of the situation. She looks toward the ballroom doors, conflicted emotions in her eyes.

  
"I don't feel like facing them." Her voice quivers slightly. "I can't."

  
"We don't have to." I offer. Snapping to reality, she realizes my presence. "It's warm enough in front of the doors. We can stay close, but not close enough to be spotted."  
Marinette smiles at me with tears in her eyes, and shocks me with her bravery. Reaching out with both arms, she wraps them around my neck and holds me close, anchoring herself to the world. Leaning her head on my shoulder, she hugs me for longer than I ever expect.

  
"What would I do without you?" She asks almost rhetorically, and I hear a shaky smile in her voice. I simply wrap my arms, accepting the warmth, hoping it's comforting her as much as it me. I lay my cheek on her forehead and listen to her breathing and the sound  
of serenading night music from within the doors of the ballroom.

  
A moment too soon, she withdraws.

  
"I feel like I can take on the world now." She bravely smiles at the stars, then at me. I panic slightly and feel Horangi shift slightly in my shirt pocket. "You must have some special magic in your hugs, cause I doubt I could feel better this easily on my own. Would you happen to be related to Chat Blanc?"  
  
I know she's teasing, but all the same, my answering laugh is uneasy. "I wish. He has a lot more going for him."  
  
Marinette frowns. "I dunno about that. I'm pretty sure he can't use watercolors like you can, and that's really amazing."  
  
I resist the urge to smile. "You'd be surprised."  
  
"All the same, I'm not going to test the strength of your magic." Marinette smiles apologetically. "You can go back inside if you're cold."  
  
I shake my head adamantly. "I beg your pardon, but that would be very uncouth of me."  
  
She laughs this time, and the sound of it is carefree and less forced than the ones before. It echoes of tinkling happiness. She turns slightly, and the light reflects off of a tiny jeweled thing I haven't noticed till now. My breath catches, and I feel the ground seemingly give way beneath my feet, making it hard to keep standing.  
  
"You're wearing the necklace." Slightly surprised, she nods and rests a hand over it. Nodding, she sobers a bit.  
  
"I had hopes it was from Adrien, but I guess it was wishful thinking on my part." She chuckles wryly, but sighs not a moment after. My mouth freezes over the words I want to say but can't. _He's right in front of you. Look at me. Please_. I resign myself to a compliment.  
  
"It's beautiful." _You're beautiful_. She smiles, and we relapse into silence.  
  
Strains of music drift on the chilly breeze, and I blink. The song I had practiced to countless times. It's not a waltz, but there are exceptions to everything. Such as triplets. And off beats. But that's not what gives me pause. That singing voice. It sounds so familiar, as if I had-  
  
"Alya?" Marinette's surprise echoes my own. Nino stands in front of the platform, watching her with such love, and I look to Alya to find her watching us.  
  
This is for us.  
  
 _"You're alone/ You're on your own/ So what have you gone blind?/Have you forgotten what you have and what is yours?_  
 _Glass half empty/ Glass half full/ Well, either way you won't be going thirsty/ Count your blessings, not your flaws."_  
  
I catch myself humming along, and I find Marinette's eyes wide beyond belief.  
  
"You sing too?" She cries in bafflement. I blush and shake my head.  
  
"No. I'll stick to my paints, thank you very much." I smile.  
  
Marinette opens and closes her mouth several times, not sure how to convict me. We stare at each other for a moment, and then it occurs to me.  
  
"May I?" I extend my arm. No turning back. This is why I suffered those lessons. Aching feet and late nights wondering why I was even bothering with this. Acceptance of my flaws and willing to push through them. All for this.  
  
Her gaze softens, and my heart squeezes painfully.  
  
"Yes, you may." And putting her hand in mine, we walk to the middle of the round patio. At the next moment, I glide as Ali had taught. Marinette follows at ease, considering her theater training, but gapes at me openly.  
  
"Y-You...?"  
  
  
"Remember when Alya was all 'hush-hush' a few weeks ago?"  
  
  
I let her put two and two together. She looks up at me in wonder, and my chest fills with pride. This is why I did it.  
  
"But why?" She can't help but ask, and I can't help but smile.  
  
"Sorry, but that's where I choose to remain mute." I wink and spin her, audaciously pulling her closer.  
  
Smirking, she regains her sense of bravado, knowing full well she's being teased. "Dark, mysterious, and brooding- the new colors of Nathaniel Kurtzberg."  
  
I laugh evilly, and she joins in, eventually our laughs becoming purely joyous.  
  
 _"You're in control/ Rid of the monsters inside your head/ Put all your faults to bed/ You can be king again."_  
  
  
"I've forgotten how much fun I used to have with you." Marinette thought aloud in a regrettable tone. "We used to be so close too."  
  
"People grow up." I shrug. "But it's not like we ever totally lost that."  
  
"True." Marinette pauses. "But I guess deep down, I feel like you're going to leave me."  
  
We falter to a stop. Looking down at her feet, I can see her struggling to keep on a brave face. I will her to look at me.  
  
"Is this about earlier? Did he really hurt you that bad?" I soften my gaze as she refuses to answer, keeping her eyes down. "When have I ever left you?  
  
  
"I'm not going anywhere."  
  
The music fades, and begins a new euphonic song.  
  
"To prove it, I've been invited to Mrs. Belamy's family New Years celebration they hold at their vacation home at the border of Germany and France." I shift uncomfortably, still not totally comfortable being so bold. "You're invited as well." I shyly glance at her. Her eyes are filled with tears.  
  
"I missed you!" She jumps into my arms and sobs into my shoulder. I know it isn't sadness that wracks her body. It's the alleviation of it all. Burying my head in her hair, I cry internally with her. The pain and anguish of all the years washing away with her tears, sharing vulnerability. For the second time that night, we share the comfort of each others mere presence.  
  
  
  
Grabbing her coat, I escort her to her limousine. Now all cleaned up, all that remains of her breakdown is a slightly red nose. Tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, I lift her chin a "cheer up" motion, and she smiles.  
  
"I'll go. To the vacation home.... I'll go." She answers. Nodding, I drape her coat around her shoulders. From outside it looks brotherly. But to me, it's the promise I'd given her nonverbally since her presence became more than just another face in the crowd.  
  
Warmth is pressed against my cheek, and Marinette leans back down with a small smile.  
"Merry Christmas, Nathaniel."  
  
As her escort drives away, I put a hand over the kiss she had left.  
  
Christmas is a time for giving. Gifts that are physical are always appreciated. Eyes light up with joy at being remembered. Verbal thanks abound. All languages. All cultures. All people. But the ones you treasure the most are ones you can't touch, see, or hear. They are memorable, and you carry them in your heart for an eternity.  
  
Always and forever.  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Authors note: SHOUT OUT TO BREAKETH OF THE RULES ON QUOTEV. THANKS TO YOU, I STAYED UP ALL NIGHT KICKING WRITER'S BLOCK IN THE- *ahem*
> 
>  
> 
> I present to you my crap of an update, (ノД`)・゜・。Have fun. XD
> 
> yes, I had writers block. It sucked massively. Such a waste. But I pushed through it since it's been... What... Three months? (・・;) FML.
> 
> WE HAVE CONTACT, I REPEAT, THE DOODLEBUG SHIP HAS SAILED. We have taken off, and there will be no landing.
> 
>  
> 
> The song given in this chapter is obviously "King" by Lauren Aquilina. Nice song. You can dance a waltz to it. It's all about when to move. (´ー｀) Trust me, I know.
> 
>  
> 
> NEXT CHAPTER SHALL CONTAIN THE UNTHINKABLE. And Mrs. Belamy practices her maternal love for both Tomato Biscuit and Dotsy-poo. (I.e. Nathaniel and Marinette)


	14. Eyes of the Innocent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Children do not care how much you know until they know how much you care."  
> ~Teddy Roosevelt
> 
> Nathaniel and Marinette make it to the Belamy abode on a seeming closer note than they have ever been, but that closeness is soon shattered again by an innocent comment. There to help Nathaniel cope is Mrs. Belamy's younger incarnate.

The car hums as we drive in silence, singing it's monotone song. The quietude settles around us like a blanket. Not out of lack of things to say, but simply because there is no need to say anything. I can't quite pinpoint the mood, though. It feels like a mixture of embarrassment, awkwardness, and comfortableness. Each mood takes turns fluctuating, probably goaded by individual thoughts. To stifle any unbidden thoughts, I keep my eyes trained on the farthest spot on the road, watching the distance, reminding my hands continually to loosen.

I glance out of the corner of my eyes at the blunette, quickly shooting my eyes back to the cloudy skyline littered with mountains when she whips her head around curiously to watch the scenery whiz by. It's definitely odd having the girl you've been admiring since God only knows when sitting in the passenger seat, gazing at the snowy hills of the German-French borders, practically breathing in the view. There's a halo of peaceful contentment around her, and I can't help but envy it.

I mind the lone car behind us, careful to watch for any irregularity. My parents had been only slightly hesitant to lend me the third car- dad's personal favorite and second child- but they acquiesced after careful consideration and conclusion that I am far from reckless when it comes to the care of important things such as a vehicle. It might have also helped that I had fudged the location of Mrs. Belamy's vacation home.

On the border of Germany and France- the two places Mrs. Belamy insisted would always be her home- the Belamy's have a vacation lodge for family reunions and get-togethers. The story of the place is quaint, I found out a couple weeks before-hand. Mrs. Belamy's side of the family is quite wealthy, and since Mr. Belamy had excited adventure in her soul, she came to the conclusion with her husband when they were younger that they should live in the city of Paris, but build a haven for the two of them and their future and current family. When things became unbearable they would have a weeks retreat before resuming the tiresome journey that is life. It proved beneficial to their marriage, as they spent close to sixty years together happily married before Mr Belamy's passing.

On Google Maps, it looks to be rather secluded when viewing with satellite images. There are indications of forested mountains, a road weaving through them to what I presume is the correct final destination. The thought of the beautiful surroundings I'd be exposed to sparks the excites the artist in me, and I find myself hoping for inspiration. And thus, my sketchpad is tucked safely and neatly into my travel bag, awaiting mountainous scenery that invigorates and keeps us artists alive.

"So... That lady at the coffee house you were sitting with the other day. That was her?" Marinette peruses the snowy fields, the evidence of a cold winter but the promise of a beautiful, green spring. I grin at the road, only slightly astonished at her memory. She isn't a theater student for nothing. Making an instructed turn onto a slightly more rugged road, I tilt my head.

"Aye. 'Twould be she." I answer in a rather unpolished Scottish accent as a joke. She snickers and shakes her head, earning me a half point for my attempt.

"More lilt." She instructs with a twinkle in her eyes, ever the perfectionist.  "You'll never catch a Scottish gal like that!"

I chuckle a little darkly at the unintentionally built friend-zone wall.  _She's been doing that all too often lately_ , the disheartened part of my mind mutters. I allow myself a whisper; "Maybe I don't want a Scottish girl."

"Hmm?"

Her side-tracked, easy tone leaves goosebumps down my arms and I praise heaven for the long-sleeved weather. Tugging at the sleeve, I clear my throat and look at her with nonchalance, playing off the misery one sided-love brings.

"Nothing important."  _Cue grin. No, stupid. Grin. Not grimace._  Internal sigh. "How was your Christmas break?"

She sighs lightly and stretches off the morning weariness. "Nothing huge. The usual drive in the city to see the lights, candles on the window sill*,  dad with the usual proverbs 'Noël neigeux, été merveilleux.'* For the most part it was surprisingly quiet. Even Alya kept it down several notches." She frowns in thought. "It was all rather... Weird. She seemed awful satisfied and would look at me with that... 'Alya look'... If that makes any sense. Wouldn't peep a word about it either. Kinda frustrating."

I gulp, knowing exactly what was up with the "Alya look". 

Unbeknownst to Marinette and I, the squad had been watching our little rendezvous with anticipation, glee and expectancy. We had unintentionally fulfilled their expectations. Somewhat.

Nonetheless, Alya was pleased with the "parting of pure innocence."

She wouldn't stop talking about "ships" and "OTP's" which lost me even further. Only Nino seemed to understand everything that was spouting out of her mouth at fifty miles per hour, even going so far as to nod every now and then, obviously knowing whatever boat she was talking about. When I told her I never realized what a nautical genius she was, she laughed like a maniac, and I began considering medical care for her.

Tumblrians, I swear.

"I'm with you there." I snort.

"So- for the sake of continued conversation- what's the story behind that bracelet I always see you wear?"

My blood freezes and I stare at my miraculous, almost as if I'd never seen the thing before in my life. The bracelet has minuscule fuzzy threads sticking every which way from the beating up it's gotten over the years. The white has refused to fade though, and every time the stripes appear they're just as ebony as they had been when I had stumbled on the thing.

"Oh, this old thing?" I laugh uneasily, not knowing how much of the truth I should reveal. I decide everything but precise details is probably safe. "A couple years back I went to South Korea to study art. An exchange program. It was for a week during our month of break, so I guess that's why you weren't aware. I can't believe I haven't told you until today. I digress; It was given to me for some odd reason. Ever since then, it's pretty much been a part of me."

Out of the corner of my eye I notice her fiddle with her ear. It seems an awkward place to subconsciously fidget with- all things considered- but I mentally shrug. I've seen weirder things in all honesty.

"Since when did  _you_  go to Korea?" She asks, more than a tiny bit surprised, but still light and teasing. I snicker.

"It's one of those self-paid programs looking for 'gifted' kids and the likes, when technically anyone who can hold a pencil can go. It's not actually about talent." I lower my voice as I glance around me, divulging controversial information in a dramatic manner. "It's all about the money."

Marinette claps a hand to her mouth, holding back fits of laughter. I confidently lean back in my seat. Whether it's from my derpiness or what I said actually struck her as funny, I'm still grateful for the unintended confidence boost.

"Regardless, it set me back a few thousand." She wrinkles her nose and I laugh. "Exactly. Didn't make it any easier with me being the only French native in my chaperone group and being practically forced to use what little English and Korean I knew back then. Everything else was complete gibberish to me, and I didn't even bother trying to understand. Thankfully, everyone in my group was either a local of the great  _hanguk*_  or a 'mother fooping American, foop yeah.' Made things a little easier."

Marinette's eyes are wide as she listen's with what I can only interpret as awe. I wait for her to say something, more than a little puzzled at her expression.

"You speak English?" She marvels. "I mean, Korean is cool too, but you can speak English? Like, understand an English conversation and everything? I mean- crap- no that's not what I meant. I'm not implying you're stupid or-" Marinette stops abruptly, sighs and lets her forehead sink into her hand. "Every time I open my mouth, I swear."

I chuckle. "No, I get it. Yeah, I know more than I think will be beneficial to me. I've changed my plans so much in the last few years that I don't even know if I'm going to pursue art in America anymore." I glance at my mirrors, and finding the road deserted I quickly pull out my iPod from the glove compartment, turning the cars Bluetooth on in the process.

"I was never really a fan of pop music in general, but I've found a few foreign proverbial gems. American and Korean, that is." I find the playlist I'm looking for and tap it before handing it to her. She stares at the device like it's alien technology. I suppress a laugh.

"What's wrong?" I tease. "My playlist gonna bite you? I promise they're all decent. Michael Bublé is a nice western oldies singer. Brings the nineteen-hundreds to the modern era with a slight twist. Not too different, so as to keep the old flavor." I inform her as I weave between the rough patches in the road. "Coldplay is absolutely phenomenal in their lyric writing. Owl City's pretty good at that too, adding techno basement music to the radio all the while being somehow ethereal in it's own way. I'm not a big fan of all of Big Bang's works, but some of their stuff is pretty freaking awesome. Black Pink is somewhat cheesy in some songs when she uses English, but I like her style. And then there's BTS. I dunno where they were all my life, but I'm glad I found them. And I dunno why, but I felt like putting some PSY on there too."

I watch her hesitate over her options, clearly trying to translate the titles- probably only slightly successful considering half of them are in  _Hangul*._

"Don't worry." I smile at the road, reassuring the indecisive blunette. "They're all different, but each one has it's enjoyable qualities. With this playlist, you really can't go wrong. Pick away."

Seemingly comforted by my words, she makes several wide circles in the air above the small screen before bringing it down with finality on a song.

The electronic, lulling notes of BTS _Spring Day_  fade in and I find my features lifting into a smile. "Well, how about that."

Marinette whips her head to me, worry written all over her face. I can hear her thoughts whizzing about the car, wondering if she had made the worst decision out of the whole selection. I turn my smile to her. "Has anyone ever told you you are a master at picking music? Cause if not, let me be the first to congratulate you on the first wonderful pick of today."

She throws her head back and laughs. "I happen to have an outstanding teacher. You should meet him some time. He has impeccable taste." She grins at the the mountains. "He's amazing."

My heart stops and I turn to her, speechless. She looks over at me with a serene look, not knowing the effect her words could have on me. We hold eye contact for a long time, caught between satiating curiosity and the hesitance at breaking such a warm atmosphere. The lyrics quietly interlude between us. Korean fades in and out, and I can swear I hear Horangi's high-pitched voice singing along.

"Tell me... What are they saying?" She asks me softly, her eyes full of something I can't quite decipher.

I look to the road, breaking the trance. I dig deep, slowly remembering and translating them.

"I... I miss you." I feel myself blushing, my mind not differentiating between translation and an actual confession. "When I say that, I miss you more/ I’m looking at your photo/ But I still miss you/ Time is so cruel/ I hate us/ Now it’s hard to even see each other’s faces."

I continue to translate for her as the lyrics are sang. Her eyes glaze over as she links the foreign with the familiar. I almost forget to keep translating as I watch her stare off into a distance further than I could ever hope to see.

"Could you write down the name of the group later? I want to look these guys up later" Marinette beams at me in the repeat of a chorus.

I grin. "Like every other band or music piece I introduce you to?" I cock my head and smile at her knowingly. "You won't believe me, but I knew as I was pulling out my iPod you would ask at some point."

She raises an eyebrow and gives me a sly look.

"I know. Crazy, right?"

She punches my shoulder lightly- just enough get her point across without messing up my driving- and I laugh. She folds her arms with a small grin on her face, and we relapse into silence as a new BTS song plays. It's comfortable and reminds me of the old days when we would lay in the grass and quietly watch the clouds, every once in a while pointing out a pretty shape.

Back then, Marinette would constantly supply me with new drawing material. She'd come to school with a huge grin on her face, and I would know she had some new idea from something or other. I'd always struggled with sketching ideas since the beginning, and when little Marinette found out, there was no stopping her. Everything was subject to being suggested. The cloud formations and their weird shaped that looked like a hippo in a tutu, the flower in the cracks of the sidewalk that somehow managed to grow without getting smashed beneath an uncaring shoe, a ladybug on her bike handle.

Then at some point, her ideas slowly decreased, and I was on my own.

If I was being totally honest, I really missed that.

"Hey, Nathaniel."

I snap out of my thoughts and look over at the present Marinette.

"Look at that mountain. It looks like a sleeping giant." She points out the window, barely touching the window.

I let out a nervous breath. "I swear, sometimes I worry you can read minds."

"Hmm?"

"N-nothing."

 

"You made it!" Mrs. Belamy bursts out of the front of the large log cabin styled condo. She's already chatting away as we open our car doors and she makes her way down the steps towards us. Marinette and I share an amused glance, relating her demeanor with another just as talkative and bright as her.

"You must be Marinette, dear!" She coos and leans on her cane, trying not to scare her off, but still trying to get a good look at her face. "I've heard so much about you."

My eyes widen in absolute horror. I emphatically shake my head and slice my hand across my throat repeatedly in an attempt at subtlety, trying to signal her to ix-nay on past onversations-cay. She just smirks at me and I sigh. Something tells me that I'm looking at the future Alya in her golden years. I can't tell if that's better or worse. I sigh to myself, but it melts into a smile. This is what family means to me. To be close enough to jab each other in the sides, but still love each other more than life itself.

Turning to the house, Mrs. Belamy puts her index and pinkie finger in her mouth. With a deep breath, she let's out a clear, bell-like whistle that causes a few idol birds nearby to take flight. A moment passes before two middle-aged men appear in the doorway with a few kids literally hanging off their legs, and a couple more who mill about around them. It takes some time getting down to our car, slowly dragging their legs piled with giggling children.

"These two would be my sons. Fréderick and Jeremy." They both give polite greetings, the one called Jeremy doing so with what seems an American accent. I nod respectfully- only too late realizing what an idiot I look like- before reaching out to shake their hands. I feel a small chuckle from the inside of my shirt pocket underneath my sweater.

"And these little munchkins would be only a few of my beloved grandchildren." She points out lovingly. They all notice our presence and become wary, not sure what to make of the two outsiders. Marinette looks at me, just as speechless, not really knowing how to approach them. Taking a deep breath to steel my nerves, I squat down to their height.

"Hmm... What's this?" I finger a strand of hair and widen my eyes theatrically. "Fire!"

Reaching for a clump of snow, I mash it onto my hair, making note to remember to clean it up and comb it later. The least I can do is look decent for dinner. I hear small intakes of breath, and find Marinette struggling to maintain her composure for the sake of my acting. One brave little soul cautiously approaches, caught between curiosity and the natural fear of a new face.

"Your hair's always like this, right?" She cocks her head. If she's asking if I dye my hair, she is one intelligent kid. I raise an eyebrow in surprise, shaking out the last of the freezing clumps that hadn't melted. She clutches a stuffed polar bear who had long ago lost it's white glow. There's something about her I immediately like. I smile and nod, running a hand through my untidy, red mess.

She considers the color a moment, contemplating her answer. "I like it."

I grin and wink. "Thanks."

With much insisting on the Belamy's part, we reluctantly let her sons carry our bags up to our rooms. I feel more than a little guilty, but Mrs. Belamy is quick to shoot down any negative comments. Almost immediately upon entering, we're greeted with many happy smiling faces and exclamations of welcome. I feel myself wondering if they aren't my long lost family and that I've just been ignorant to their existence this whole time. Regardless, Marinette and I have become Belamy's. All together, we total around a whopping thirty-seven people in all.

"We were just barely setting the table and finishing meal preparations when you two arrived." The grand matriarch of the family informs us as we ascend the beautifully carved, wooden stairs. I'm almost too busy wrapped up in my own artistic thoughts to catch her words. The dying evening light filters in through the windows, casting dramatic shadows everywhere. "You two can get settled in until dinner's ready. I'll ring the bell. Don't worry about not hearing it. Trust me; you will."

Marinette and I share another look as Mrs. Belamy cackles, one of many that had transpired that day.

Marinette arrives at her room and she gives a small wave as Mrs. Belamy and I continue on. I throw a smile over my shoulder, and proceed to trail after the lovely lady that is our host. Her cane thumps softly on the dark wood floor, and I inadvertently match her pace. At the end of the hall, I see my bags in front of what I can only assume is my room.

I reach for the door handle and swing it open. It already looks more spacious than my room back home, and I gulp, wondering what I was going to do with myself with all that room to do absolutely nothing. Picking up my duffel bag, I swing it over my shoulder and begin to enter the room, only to have Mrs. Belamy- quick as lightening- whip her cane in front of the entrance. Before I can process what has happened, my legs smack straight into the thick, sturdy help-mate. I wince and yelp in pain, by bag dropping from my shoulder to thump to the floor dully.

"What the  _heck,_  Mrs. B?!" I hiss, my eyes firmly shut as if the light could pain me more than any other physical contact at this point. I pick up my leg and rub it in a stubbornly consoling way.

She pounds her can once on the floor, placing both hands on the head of the cane. She narrows her eyes at me before speaking carefully. "I pondered whether to broach the subject, since you're such a good kid. I'll do it anyway, just to say I warned you."

I open my eyes and look over at the woman. "Mrs. B?"

"Marinette's room is off limits after ten o'clock."

My brain slowly translates what she says, and I feel my face blush before I can even react. Pain completely forgotten, I resist the urge to gape. My emotions are in turmoil, fighting for front row seat- horror, embarrassment, offense, chagrin, the barest hints of bemusement. I settle on a look of absolute agitation. She chuckles a little darkly and pats my shoulder.

"Just making sure we're on the same page." She nods curtly at me with a twinkle in her eyes and heads back down the hall to go supervise and assist the preparations for dinner. As she disappears, I lean on my door frame a chuckle tiredly. Mostly to let out the pent up breath inside me.  _What a day_. Rubbing my eyes, I begin to wonder what insanity awaits this week. Picking up my bag, I again attempt to head in.

"Even if you were in my room after ten, I trust you."

I whip my head up to see Marinette's head peeking from behind her door. It takes a moment, but I put two and two together.

"Y-you heard that?" I barely get the question out above a whisper. In a silent response, she grins. I feel myself get unbearably hot in the cheeks, and I look away.

"I've known you since we were both in diapers, goofing off in nursery. As if anything like  _that_  would happen between us." She shakes her head and laughs, brushing off the matter with much more ease than I could ever muster on a good day. Shutting the door quietly behind her, I'm left to my own thoughts and feelings.

_As if..._

I shiver and clench my duffel bag strap tightly. My sweater does nothing for the chill Marinette's words gave me.

 

 

Pushing the cherry tomatoes around my plate, I listen hardheartedly to the multiple conversations around the table, tuning in and out to different discussions at will. Some English, some French. All more in sync with each other than I'd ever been with my biological family.

"- Forgot the word I was using in the sentence, and French is my first-!"

"... Mortgage got so damn high, I choke on-"

"- Such a player too, with an ego the size of a-"

"You don't like tomatoes?"

I startle into the present time, and turn my eyes to the owner of the voice. Polar bear girl is beside me, watching with furrowed brows. I glance at my plate, where the little red orbs are drowning in Italian dressing then back at her.

"Is it because you don't like red things?" She asks, no longer shy like before. Now, she gazes at me openly, no fear in asking anything. "You don't like your hair either, do you?"

I stop and look at her properly, turning in my seat. Her dark brown hair borders on ebony, running down to her mid back in wavy, loose curls. She looks to be about six or seven years old, but her eyes scream an old soul; somber and attentive. Looking into her eyes, I almost get lost in their hazel depths.

I smile. "No. Red is a brilliant tone. It keeps this world alive and breathing. It's really a magnificent color. Just not on me." I turn my attention to my plate for a minute. "As for the tomatoes, I just prefer them with salt."

Abruptly, she turns and heads back to the kiddie table, obviously disinterested and no longer actively engaged in our short conversation. I sigh and turn back to my plate with even less interest than before. Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea to just excuse myself and do something that didn't involve feeling as emotionally wrecked as I am. I need to sketch away these old feelings. I don't like the similarity of this feeling to the one I had years and years ago. Any option seems more enticing at this point. It wouldn't really matter in the long run, since no one would notice right away if I had somehow vanished from the table. Its just like before. I sigh and rake a hand through my hair. Just like before.

As I've almost made up my mind to slip away, a tiny hand shoves a little steel container in front of my face. There she is, stern as ever, polar bear under arm looking as dejected as a stuffed animal can.

I numbly take the cylinder, and only then realize what it is. Table salt.

"I-" Looking down at her, she gazes back at my with a softness that makes my heart ache. All that concern for someone she met barely five hours ago. My heart warms, and my face softens into a smile more genuine than all of the ones I had given at dinner already. "Thank you.

"Nice bear you got there." I comment after I shake a bit of salt on my tomato, spear it and pop it in my mouth. She looks satisfied and turns her attention to the poor ragged animal. "Does it have a name?"

"Course." She states, as if the thought of a nameless stuffed animal is blasphemy. I shift in my seat, most attentive, and I notice the couple beside me subtly watching with amused and gentle demeanor's. "It's Ivory."

I raise an eyebrow and I can see the barest hints of pride in her eyes. I reach down and shake Ivory's paw. "Really now? That's a big, smart word. You've got brains and beauty, huh?"

And there it is- the smile I'm looking for. The smallest upturn of her lips, transforming her features into an artists dream; a small replica of Mona Lisa. For a moment, I can see through the eyes of a parent who sees the beauty in their children, no matter what the world or societal standards of beauty say. It's gentle and all-encompassing. I like that feeling. I glance over at Marinette, watching her laugh with a young woman and her husband. My heart twinges, and I look away quickly.

Pushing back my chair, I stand. The little girl looks up at me curiously.

"I bet this place has awesome hide and seek spots."

 

 

Crouched beneath a nook in the stairs that's well-placed and expertly hidden, we giggle quietly as the seeker passes us ignorantly, looking for the more obviously hidden children.

"What's your name?" The girl whispers into the silence, after another pass from the seeker.

"Nathaniel. But I like Nathan."

The little girls piercing brown eyes watch me with interest. I nudge her. "What's yours?"

"Scarlet."

My eyes widen ever so slightly.  _A-ha_. So _that_  explains the polar bear's name. Scarlet and Ivory. Color for color. It's a nice touch. I wonder if she thought it up herself...

I smirk. Probably, given her amazing wit.

We sit in silence for a minute, and Scarlet shifts ever so slightly. I can tell she's thinking of something. I only  _wish_ I could see what was going on in that bright mind of hers. We watch the sun fade behind the mountains in the window we can see from our area, and I begin to wonder if this week might be all that bad. I glance at her, and she lets out a little impatient puff of air. I smile.

Her head whips up to me, and I slightly startle. "You like her, right?"

"Pardon?" I blink from the whiplash this conversation gave.

"That girl you came with. You like her?"

I can see something in her eyes, and I decide skating across the truth might not be a good idea with her. I slowly nod. She nods once and turns to look out.

"She doesn't know yet either, does she."

Not a question. A statement. I wince at her perceptiveness. "Right."

Leaping up, Scarlet runs out from our hiding place. I widen my eyes and reach out for her, hissing for her to come back. There's a little twinkle in her eyes that matches the glassy eyed stare her ivory accomplice gives me. I see the likeness of the two and wonder what the bear looked like when it was fresh out of the box. Looking at Scarlet, I see a shadow of her grandmother.

"You're gonna have to be my friend if you want me to help you." Hands on hips, Polar bear gazing despondently at the ceiling, appendages limp.

"What?" My head is spinning, and I feel the ghost of a headache from all this information. She smirks and turns on her heel, satisfied. I hear her reciting something as she prances off to the sound of the seeker.

"-One last candle burning low-" I hear a squeal and the pounding of fleeing footsteps, followed by excited shrieks. A stampede of toddlers follow after her, passing my no longer necessary hiding place. I'm left feeling more than a little confused.

Yes, this week might not be all that bad.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOW MUCH OF THIS MAKES UP FOR MY ABSENCE?
> 
> Okay, so I legit am piled up with attempts at graduation. being a junior isn't easy, and trying to get one step ahead of the game before I start senior year is killing me.
> 
> This chapter was especially lengthy since I spent about five minutes each sit down session. XD I didn't decide to conclude this chapter till I looked at the page count. Holy tomato's of Romano's selection.
> 
> *Marinette mentions the candles on the window sill and Noël neigeux, été merveilleux. These are French traditions that are sometimes celebrated. Look it up! It's quite cool.
> 
> *Hanguk is what native South Koreans call their country or the country as a whole (the other term is Daehan Minguk, or "The Republic of Korea")
> 
>  
> 
> This story will probably only be 2-3 more chapters long. 4-5 if you're lucky. XD Enjoy it!
> 
> LONG LIVE THE DOODLEBUG SHIP.


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